


Regency Steele

by SteeleHoltingOn



Series: RS Alternate Universe: We Wish It Would Have Happened This Way [16]
Category: Remington Steele (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4879195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteeleHoltingOn/pseuds/SteeleHoltingOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, take Bonds of Steele and all of Season 5, throw out everything we don't like, keep the stuff we do, put Laura in a corset, and let Daniel run the show.  Have fun!</p><p>A/N Fully admitting that this is my absolute fav of all the RS stuff I've written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Like so many RS fans, I just didn't LIKE the ending. But there are bright spots that make watching those episodes worth the aggravation. So ... I kept the parts I liked, trashed the rest, put Laura in a corset, and let Daniel run the show. 
> 
> A BIG thanks to Lauryn and Wilma for editing, Lovesteele for holding my hand, Nancy for her episode transcripts, and to the writers of Bonds of Steele, The Steele That Wouldn't Die, Steele Hanging in There, and Steeled with a Kiss ... Jeff Melvoin, Brad Kern and Robin Bernhein. I've shamelessly lifted dialogue, rearranged and used it for something other than its original purpose. Enjoy!

 

Harold Lindermann wrung his hands, caught himself and straightened to wait patiently for Mr. Steele and Miss Holt’s decision. He hoped they would take the case.  Too many valuable items had gone missing from the house, he’d told them, and the expense of replacing them to maintain the authentic historical ambiance for the guests was eating into his profits. 

Mr. Steele frowned and flipped through the guest lists for the past six months again, pausing on the first, third and fourth pages.  He nodded, pinning Harold with icy blue eyes.  “We’ll take the case.” 

Miss Holt nudged him.  “Mr. Steele, perhaps we can caucus in the other room?” 

“In a moment, Miss Holt.  We’ll take the case, Mr. Lindermann.” 

Harold restrained the urge to dance a jig.  Instead, he gave a regal nod.  “Wonderful.” 

Mr. Steele shook his hand.  “Ms. Krebs will be contacting you to make the appropriate arrangements.” 

“Excellent.  I look forward to having you as guests.”  Harold rose, gave Mr. Steele and Miss Holt a perfectly correct bow for an Englishman of the early 1800s and exited in a similar manner.  
  


*****

  
Two-to-one odds Laura hands me my head.  Remington glanced at his infuriated partner.

“Now can we caucus, Mr. Steele?”  Laura’s frosty tone lowered the temperature in his office several degrees.

On another day, he might have pretended to be contrite—he had run rather roughshod across her authority—but there were bigger concerns at the moment.  “Of course, Miss Holt,” he said, handing her the guest lists.  “Take a look.”

“I’ve seen it,” she said dryly.

“Look harder.”

She snatched the papers from his hand.  “See someone you know?  Personal friend?  Ex-associate?  Old girlfriend crawling out of the woodwork?”

Remington merely waited.

“I don’t recognize any of—Leighton Sinclair?  Eric Gunnar?  Colonel Reginald Frobish?  Oh, no.”  Her voice dropped with foreboding.  “What’s he up to now?  I thought he was ensconced with the Earl of Claridge as a security consultant?”

“Perhaps he’s on vacation.

She dropped the papers on his desk, crossing her arms.  “What else could it be?”  Her voice dripped sarcasm.

By the set of her jaw, he knew she wasn’t simply going to hop on an airplane to check out Daniel’s latest ploy.  She’d soured on his mentor after London.  Not that she complained overmuch about the man; rather, she kept her silence on the subject any time it came up.  That, in itself, was a rarity and spoke of the depth of her emotions.

“Laura.” He drew out her name. “He’s going to be at the house for a week. If another theft occurs, I’d like to be in a position to respond to it."

“So go. He’s your problem, not mine. You’ll need a complete list of the items stolen, and where they were stolen from, to cross-reference with the guests. Be sure to ask Mr. Lindermann for that information.”

“It’s a week of undercover work in Northern California—beautiful country, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Don’t forget to get a list of the guests for the upcoming session.”

Damn. Time to change tactics.  “Miss Holt, I can’t do this alone.  Besides, don’t you want to make sure Daniel doesn’t drag me into one of his schemes?” he cajoled.

“You? I’m afraid I’ll end up in the middle of one of his schemes,” she retorted. Her dark lashes swept up. “So, we’re supposed to find the thief, hope it’s not Daniel—which isn’t likely—and uncover the culprit or cover up Daniel’s misdeeds.”

He suppressed a grin at her excellent summation.  “It sounds Machiavellian when you put it that way.”

“Get a list of the employees.  A check of their financials should reveal if anyone has suddenly come into money,” she snapped.

“I’m terribly disappointed in you, Miss Holt.  You’ve missed the obvious here.”

“What could that possibly be, Mr. Steele?” She gave him a dark look.

He wiggled his eyebrows. “One undeniable fact. It will be a great deal of fun. We’ll get away from the office for an entire week and enjoy the delights of a vacation getaway unlike anything we’ve experienced. It ought to be a simple open-and-shut case.”

“You take it.  I’m too busy.”

“The Thin Man, William Powell to Myrna Loy, MGM, 1934.  Excellent reference, Miss Holt, you’re getting better at this.”

She glared at him and threw up her hands. “I’m going to regret this.”  She strolled toward him, raking a finger down the front of his shirt before tugging his head down by yanking on his tie. Her glossy pink lips parted, sending him an irresistible invitation. “You will owe me for this one, Mr. Steele.”

“Repaying you, Miss Holt, will be my absolute, utter pleasure.” He closed in, anticipating the taste of her mouth.

She ducked away and rounded his desk to press a button on the telephone. “I’ll remember that.” The innocence in her voice contradicted the twinkle in her eye as she punched the speaker button. “Mildred, dig up whatever you can find on Harold Lindermann and his company, Brighton Country Manor.”

“Brighton? Oh, the Regency fellow. That explains why Mr. Lindermann kissed my hand.”

“He kissed your hand?” Laura echoed with a sideways look at Remington.

“Quite dashing. He gave me a list of questions for you. Hang on; I’ll be right in.”

Mildred appeared in the doorway with a notepad as Laura disconnected. “I’ll need both of your measurements. Mr. Lindermann has to get the seamstress working on your costumes right away.”

Remington nodded. “Call my tailor. He has mine.”

“Our measurements? Costumes? What did you get us into, Mr. Steele?” The trepidation in Laura’s voice made him grin even though he knew he’d pay for it in a moment.

Mildred answered. “Since it’s a Regency reenactment of a house party, you’ll need period costumes, Miss Holt. You know: dresses, petticoats, corsets. Oh! There’ll be lots and lots of dancing. You’ll need slippers. And don’t forget about the maze.”  She sighed dreamily. “You’ll have to get lost in the maze at least once. They have horses. Of course, you’ll have to ride sidesaddle, but you’ll manage.” Her whole face softened as she visualized the scene.

Laura sputtered, “I have to wear a corset for a whole week?"

Mildred wiggled her eyebrows. “Yeah, and you’ll need to work on your British accent. Maybe Mr. Steele can give you lessons.”

Laura slid off the desk to jab him in the chest with a finger again. “My fee just went up, buster.” She stalked into her own office, presumably to fume in solitude. 

Remington and Mildred exchanged good-natured shrugs. 

 

 

 


	2. Sunday

Reno shrank in the back window as Remington and Laura zipped out of town in a rental.  She’d picked a compact since the silly thing would sit in a parking lot for a week, and it was pointless to waste money on anything bigger.  Her partner spent the first fifteen minutes making critical remarks about the lack of legroom, maneuverability and the general “mean” demeanor of the car. 

Laura ignored him, propping her chin in her hand on the window sill.  “I still can’t believe it was closer to fly into Reno and drive back to California than to fly into Sacramento.”

“Perhaps we can stay an extra night in Reno on our return.  It might make up for this pitiful excuse of a car if we can counter it with decent quarters and a night on the town.”  

“Don’t tempt me.”  The idea of a fat mattress with soft sheets and room service sounded heavenly—especially if a certain Irishman happened to be there with her.  

Since the case at the Friedlich Spa, she'd been working to see her partner for who he really was--without regard for her own issues.  Without the haze of fear, she'd been able to appreciate how well they meshed as a couple.  For the past month, "crossing the line" with him had been at the top of her “To Do” list.  

But courtesy of a Pick-6 ticket, their untimely death and a caviar king, they’d missed out on any sort of exclusive company.  

They’d spent the last eight days working double time to clear this coming week.  Laura and Mildred had taken the bulk of the appointments.  In the meantime, moving up the security installation at a new upscale jewelry store had caused Remington fits and cost the agency a fortune in overtime to get it finished Friday.  Saturday was spent with the pair of them testing out and tweaking the system.    

All this had left her cranky, tired and itchy beyond belief.  Verbally sparring with Remington on scattered evenings while he taught her a few basics of Regency era dancing--passed on from Daniel in a long ago scheme--had been the only release for either of them.  

He reached out to lift her hand to his lips.  “Throwing the gauntlet down, are we?”

“If I survive this week, I’ll be ready for civilization,” she sulked.  

“We aren’t exactly camping out.  Regency England is quite forward in its own way.”

“How so?”  

“It compares somewhat with the 1920s.  Clothing became less restrictive, and country morals became the norm.  It wasn’t as wild as the Georgian era or as strait-laced as the Victorian.”  

“Sounds lovely,” she groused as she stared out the window.  

“Laura.”  She met his sober glance.  “Thank you.” 

A squeeze to his hand was enough.  

 

The ninety-minute drive took them from downtown Reno into farmland that exploded into lush countryside filled with old trees and grassy lawns. They parked the rental car in an isolated lot at the far edge of Lindermann’s property.  A small carriage house stood nearby, along with a horse-drawn coach with a pair of robust young men standing guard. 

Mr. Lindermann waited out front to greeted them with effusive thanks.  He was wearing a tailcoat and breeches of sorts; both emphasized the roundness of his belly even though Laura supposed it was custom-tailored to be a period costume.    


“Oh my, I’m glad to see the pair of you.  Come now.  Your clothes are ready inside the house.  There is a trunk for each of you.  Please store any of your modern accoutrements and toiletries in it.  We’ll see that it gets to your room.  From this point on, you’ll be living in 1815—except for the lavatories.  We do provide that modern convenience for the comfort of our guests.”

Laura yanked her tote out of the car before Remington could reach for it.  He followed her into the tiny guest house.  A costumed young man and younger woman stood beside the door, dipping bows and curtsies as the detectives passed through.   The low slung cottage contained only a scant handful of rooms.  Harold happily showed them the space, explaining it was formerly a summer house—not a carriage house as she’d thought.  He’d converted it into a greeting place to allow guests to shed their modern ways for the week.  He directed them into a room to the rear.  

The detective in her automatically noted layouts, entries and exits.  The first room was apparently for refreshment with its antique sofas and small tables scattered about with lemonade and miniature cakes set on a tray.  The rear—bedroom, she supposed—was for dressing as it contained a pair of privacy screens in opposite corners along with a cheval mirror and a thickly upholstered divan.  A microscopic bathroom proved to be hiding behind a heavy wooden door.  Its dimensions explained the need for the makeshift dressing rooms.  The promised trunks were stacked at the foot of the divan. 

Harold continued, “The majority of your clothing awaits you in the main house.  Here you can change into afternoon dress.  I’ll send in the servants to assist.”

Laura shook her head.  She was still annoyed at the setup and had no desire to inflict her sour mood on an innocent bystander.  “No, thank you.  I’ll figure this out.”  I think I can tie a few ribbons. 

“But Miss Holt—”

“Mr. Lindermann.  I’ve been dressing myself for thirty years now.  I’ll be fine,” she ground out.  

The man exchanged glances with Remington—who quirked his lips.  With a doubtful look, Harold nodded.  “Very well, Miss Holt.  I will await your presence in the carriage.  The footmen will carry your trunks.  When we arrive at the main house and have had our tea, I will impart the remainder of the information you required of me.”

“That will be fine, Mr. Lindermann.”  After he’d turned away, Laura rolled her eyes at his odd phrasing.  She rounded the screen and dismissed him.  Ignoring the quiet discussion between the two men as they vacated the room, she examined the pale green dress hanging from a hook in the corner.  It was little more than a thin scrap of fabric she might have used for a nightgown.  The material was soft, somewhat like the five-hundred count cotton sheets on her bed, and heavily embroidered with satiny thread.  

Letting the fabric drop, she retrieved the thinnest undergarment—a shift Mildred had called it.  Stockings tied with garters went next.  Atop that, she shrugged on the stays over her head and was surprised by the strip of wood in the front as she settled it into place about her middle--and realized why Harold had suggested a maid.  No matter how much she twisted and turned, with the lacing in the back, it was impossible for her to fasten the undergarment by herself.  

“Mr. Steele!”  She raised her voice, hoping it would carry into the other room.

“Yes, Miss Holt.”

She jumped.  He had returned with his characteristic silent step.  Trying for casual, she popped her head around the edge of the screen.  Somehow, her partner had already shed his jeans and sweater to don a loose white shirt, buff-colored knee length pants of the sort Mr. Lindermann wore, and a vest and boots.  A long strip of white material hung around his neck, as if he’d been about to knot it like a tie.  He raised an eyebrow at her hands holding the front of the stays in place. 

“I need help.  But no comments whatsoever.  This whole charade is irritating me, and this costume isn’t helping at the moment.” 

“Of course.”  The careful neutrality in his voice lightened her mood--although she didn’t dare crack a smile. As he joined her behind the screen, the contrast between his frank masculinity and the delicate femininity of her own costume made her pause in appreciation.    

“Turn about then,” he lightly ordered, startling her out of her perusal. 

Laura held herself erect as Remington deliberately skimmed his fingers along the bottom edge of the fabric.  One of his hands warmed the small of her back as the other began tightening the string with a series of tugs.  His fingers dipped between the rows and pulled.  Tingles danced up her spine, following the path of his hand.  By the time he made it to the top of the fabric, she had to stare hard at the wall to ignore the rush of heat suffusing her body. 

“Enough?” he asked.  

She glanced down.  Her small breasts swelled upward with all the support from the stays underneath.  “Ah, yes.  I think.  I don’t really know how it’s supposed to fit.”  

“Lovely.  Absolutely lovely.”  Remington’s smooth voice coming from above and behind reminded her that he had an excellent view of her newly-found cleavage.

“Oh!”  Turning, she gave him a healthy shove.  “Out!  I said ‘no comments’!”

“I was only admiring the view, Miss Holt.”  He gave her a short bow and backed out of her makeshift dressing room.  

“You would,” she called out with a smile he couldn’t see.  She drew on a pair of loose pants tied with a drawstring, another thin dress Mildred said was a bodiced petticoat, and then the gown itself.  By the dint of much awkward reaching, she tied a loose semblance of a bow in the back before fastening the front.  Lastly, she drew on the little bolero-looking jacket that Mildred had called a “spencer.”  The mint color complimented the shy green of the gown.  

She pinned her hair up in a mass of ringlets and retrieved the straw bonnet trimmed in matching mint ribbon.  She felt utterly ridiculous.  She had no waistline at all and resembled a Grecian column.  

Remington’s mouth curved up as she eased out from behind the patterned silk screen.  He had finished knotting his tie—it’s called a cravat, Holt—and was packing his clothing into his trunk. For someone who filled out a tuxedo gorgeously, the fitted knee breeches and vest—a waistcoat—looked delicious on him.  Focus, Holt, focus.  We have a job to do.  

“My, my, my, you look like a spring blossom from an English garden.”  He frankly admired her new attire.  

More of the tension in her frame flowed away at his charming words.  Mr. Steele had a knack for getting her to relax.  With a wry smile, she commented, “I don’t feel like a flower.  I think I’m wearing five layers of clothing.  I feel like one of those musical dolls.”

“The kind with a steel rod in its middle?”

“That’s the one,” Laura said cheerfully.  

He shot her a grin.  “Care to help me with the waistcoat?”

“Of course.”  She stood behind him and fastened the buckle.  “Snug enough?”

“That it is.”

She picked up the tailcoat next and held it out while he slid his arms into the sleeves.  The familiar habit pleased her though she wouldn’t admit thow much she enjoyed it.  He turned around while tugging his shirtsleeves into place.  Laura buttoned his coat and then stepped back to admire him as he made final adjustments to the ensemble.  

He settled a fold here and there and in moments looked as if he’d stepped through some sort of doorway from the past.  He lifted his chin, and the resultant expression made Laura think of the Earl of Claridge at his haughtiest.

Suddenly, he spun her around and indicated the cheval glass where Laura could see the pair of them framed in the long oval.  The antique image of them disconcerted her.  “Mr. Steele, we look as if we’re in one of those old-time photo shops at a theme park. You know, the ones where you dress up and they take your picture in black and white?”

She watched his hand come up to lightly stroke the bare skin in the hollow of her shoulder, just above the trim of the neckline.  His touch made her shiver.  “Laura, you are beautiful in any era.  I have no doubts that you would have taken those Regency chaps on a wild ride before someone snared your affections.”  

In an effort to regain her composure, she waved off the compliment.  “I don’t follow enough rules.  I’d be an outcast in a moment.”

“An Original. Those are the ones worth pursuing.”  He let his fingers skim down the inside edge of the lace.  He’d been touching her like this a great deal lately.  At first, the intensity of her reaction to the sensual contact had made her edgy, as old fears of her personality being overrun flamed bright again.  But Mr. Steele hadn’t changed any other aspect of their partnership, and she'd gradually allowed herself to enjoy the seductive web he was weaving. 

She tried to sidetrack him, just for fun.  “Mildred calls you a rake of the highest order.”  

Remington grinned widely and turned her in his arms.  “You know what they say about reformed rakes?”

“Actually, I don’t,” she admitted as she tilted her head back in anticipation of his kiss.  

“Ask Mildred.  I think she’s the Regency expert around here.”  

“Only in romance novels.”  

“Works for me.”  He rubbed his lips across hers until they parted, then kissed her in a lazy exploration that made her toes curl inside the embroidered slippers.  Without thinking, she rose onto the balls of her feet to deepen the connection.  When they parted, the look on his face told her he wasn’t unaffected.   

But he only held out a hand.  “We have business to attend.  Shall we, Lady Holt?”

She laid her fingers over his the way he’d demonstrated two nights ago at his place.  “Of course, Lord … Remington.”  They had mutually decided that the name would serve better than “Steele.”  Both appellations had English roots, but “Remington” was much more notable and would serve as a sort of disguise from the suspects—except, of course, from Daniel.  

Privately, Laura hoped she might learn to call him something other than “Mr. Steele” without thinking of her old typewriter.  If they were to turn the next corner in their relationship, she had to begin with a few changes.  

She took his arm, reminding herself that this was just another undercover operation—one requiring a little more in the way of clothing and pretense.  


 

Harold seemed uncomfortable with Laura in his office, but she was well-versed in the art of ignoring masculine discomfort at her obvious competence.  Deliberately, she paced about the room while Remington perused the list of objects d’art that had vanished over the past half year.  When he finished, he folded it neatly and stuffed it inside the pocket low on his tailcoat.  He rose and Harold followed suit.

“Lady Holt, Lord Remington, please let me show you about and then to your rooms before the others arrive.”  The two detectives followed their client out.  He gave them a grand tour of the elegantly appointed house.  When they ascended the wide center staircase, Harold rattled on about the lineage of various portraits lining the walls.

Laura stifled a grin, amused.  The man certainly seemed to prefer living in the past—in particular, England’s past, not America’s.  She wondered if his accent was affected.  Mr. Steele would probably know.

Harold paused in the hallway and indicated two rooms.  “I’ve taken the liberty of installing the pair of you in our master’s suite.  Each of you will have your privacy, but there is an adjoining door so that you may conference without the others being aware.”  He  showed them the clandestine latch in the paneling that allowed a hidden door to open.  

Laura clasped her hands behind her back innocently.  “Are all the rooms situated as such?”

“Ah, the Duchess room has a small adjoining residence suitable for a maid.  All the others open only into the hallway.  If you please, I will take my leave.  The other guests will be arriving shortly.  We shall meet again at dinner.”  He bowed his head and strode out the door, leaving Remington and Laura alone.  

She yanked the pins out of her hair, shaking it loose so the curls lay on her shoulders.  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Remington’s frank admiration as he leaned against the wall.  

“You know that only a husband is allowed to see his wife’s hair down in Regency England?” he said lightly.  “We would be married posthaste.”  

“Is that so?” Laura asked.  She strolled to the window, stretching her arms upward until the fabric stopped her motion.  She untied the spencer, dropping it onto the bed, and tried to stretch again.  “Oh damn.  I don’t know how women survived the clothing.”  

Remington came up behind her to press a kiss at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.  “In the same manner as the men, I suppose.  I’ll remember not to drink a great deal of water, in any case.”

She laughed outright.  “Me, too.  I’d hate to have to call a maid to get me out of this contraption.”

“Lady Holt, you have no need of a maid to divest you of such a delightful restraint.  I’ll happily offer my services anytime, day or night.”  

Taking care to affect the English accent she’d been practicing, she turned in his arms and laced her fingers around his neck.  “My Lord Remington, you are quite forward with such an innocent maid as I must be.”

“But I find myself desirous of your company—and your charms.  I cannot tear myself away from you for long.  Thus, I offer myself to you in any manner you desire.”  While he spoke, Remington removed her hands from his neck to place warm kisses in her palms.    

Laura blinked.  He’d sounded serious.  Unnerved by the direction of the conversation, she pulled tingling fingers away from his hands to pace about the room.  “I, ah, perhaps I could see the list again—the one Mr. Lindermann gave you.”  

In the long mirror standing in the corner, she could see Remington rake frustrated hands through his hair.  He fished the papers out of his coat and tossed them on the bed.  “Take a look.  I’ll settle into my room.  Knock when you are ready for dinner.”

The connecting door shut quietly behind him.  

Laura dropped into one of the spindly chairs in the corner, irritated.  She’d done it again—taken a perfectly romantic conversation and ruined it for the pair of them.  Be different, Laura.  Just once.  She stood, took a deep breath—one that was restrained by the stays—and crossed the bedroom to knock on the door.  

Remington opened it, stepping back to make space for her.  Prints of hunting horses and dogs lent the space a distinctly Old World masculine elegance, but she ignored the decor in favor of taking his hands in her own.  Haltingly, she framed her words, staring at his fingers.  “I, too, desire your company.”  Her eyes came up to see velvet blue.  “I prefer you … your presence above all others.”  

He didn’t make fun of her.  Instead, he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.  “Then let us be in one another’s company for the duration and see what becomes of it, shall we?”  She blinked again, heartened by his words.  “Come now, Lady Holt.  Bring the papers.  We have a case to solve.”  

When she'd retrieved the list, Remington handed her a pamphlet and sprawled onto the bed.  

“What’s this?” she asked.

“A schedule of activities.  We have full days ahead: dining, horse riding, cricket, tea, picnics, dancing.  On Friday there is a grand ball to wrap up the week.”

“How are we supposed to solve the case if we’re scheduled for every moment of the day?”

“Laura—didn’t Mildred tell you about the purpose of these house parties?”  Mutely, she shook her head.  “Pleasure, my lovely partner.  Pleasure.  One is to relax and take part in the revelry.”

“This sounds like a bad romance novel.  But if it gives us time to get Daniel out of trouble, then I suppose I shouldn’t complain.”

“Daniel’s not our culprit.”

Laura tilted her head.  Remington sounded confident.  “How do you know?”

He tapped the list of stolen items.  “Daniel doesn’t deal in these items.”

“Perhaps he’s branching out.”

“He prefers jewelry.  It’s portable and easily fenced.  These items require a specialized dealer to get top dollar.  It’s not his thing, Laura.”  

“But the coincidences?  Every time Daniel comes, something disappears.”  

“Then we look further.”  

Laura closed her mouth, trying not to be annoyed.  She’d known that Daniel Chalmers meant everything to Remington, but she’d found out why only a week ago.  After the debacle over the lottery ticket, she’d found him staring into space more than once.  The tiny peek she’d had into his past had shown her little more than dark, disturbing images.  She imagined they haunted him.  

A few days ago, she’d caught him in a mood.  She’d left a file at his condo the previous evening and stopped in on a Saturday afternoon to retrieve it.

She knocked, didn’t get an answer.  Using her key to unlock the door, she assumed he was at the movies or buying out the grocery store for the dinner he promised to make her that evening.  Instead, she found him on the terrace, lost in thought.

In a quiet voice she rarely heard, he said, "I’ve been so cold that the movie theater was the only place I could get warm.  If I didn’t lift enough quid, I had to choose between eating and sleeping in a safe place instead of a doorway.  Sometimes I didn’t have either—especially in the winter when the chaps keep their coats buttoned up and the blunt is twice as hard to nick.  I still don’t know why Daniel chose me.  I was a foul-mouthed street rat—quick to anger, quicker to throw a punch.”

“How did he … you wouldn’t have gone home with him.”  Laura leaned on the terrace railing, deliberately not touching or looking at him for fear he would shy away from this conversation.  

“No.  He told me I had a quick mind and quicker hands.  He taught me to run cons with him and let me hold the money.  I cheated him, of course, but he would grin at me and tell me to keep the change.  He didn’t miss much.  Somehow he made sure I had enough quid at the end of the day for food and a place to sleep.”

“When did you learn to trust him?”

Remington shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I learned from him.  Learned how to walk, to talk, to dress.  The more I learned, the bigger the payout.  Somewhere along the way, he had a grand scheme taking place on the upper side of London.  We began traveling together.  Crossed over to the Continent for a pair of years until I had a yen to hop a Greek freighter.  When I came back from South America, we worked together time and again.  Until you, he’s the only person who ever gave a damn about me.”

After that confession, he’d abruptly shed his mood with a wink and smile that she hadn’t bought for a minute.  Instead of working, she had stayed—spending the evening with his arms closed about her as they watched an old movie together.  She’d been shaken by the three-day experience of homelessness, and he’d been a rock-solid partner throughout.  If Remington needed her for comfort in the face of boyhood memories, she would supply it without question.

When she’d discovered Daniel was involved in this latest scheme, she’d mentally cleared her calendar.  Her protests had been merely for form’s sake.  In an odd way, her banter with Remington served as a constant reassurance of their evolving relationship.  When the steady flow of quips and witty retorts stopped, it was usually a sign of trouble.  

“All right.  If it’s not Daniel, then the culprit must be either a servant or another frequent participant.  Didn’t Mildred already do checks on the employees to peek at their financials?”

“Yes.”  Remington slid a file over to her as she sat on the edge of the bed.  “She didn’t find anything.  But these are small enough thefts that any one of them could be our culprit.”

Laura paced, tapping her fingers on her elbows.  “One of us should have posed as a servant.”

“Since I did the last pass as a butler, I should think it’s your turn.”  

“I can’t now.  I have to help you keep an eye on Daniel, but—”

Together they said, “Mildred!”  

Laura nodded.  “Harold has a telephone in his office.  I can call her from there and get Harold to come up with a reason for her to be a new employee.  With luck, she’ll be here by morning.  What do we know about the current batch of attendees?”

Remington studied the papers scattered across the bed.  “There are twelve total, including the pair of us.  Six men, six women.  Several are returning.”

“How do you know?”

“Each time a guest returns, he or she ascends in ranking.”

“Ranking?”  Laura was thoroughly confused.

“Each guest starts with the lowest ranking—a baronet if you will—and is addressed as ‘Sir’ or ‘Madam.’  Every time a guest returns to Brighton, he or she ascends in rank.”  

“So what does that mean?”

“We’ve been assigned a rank somewhere in the middle, to help with our cover.  I’m the Earl of Remington; you’re the Marchioness of Holt.  There’s another pair, the Marquess and Marchioness of Langley.  There’s a note here that they outrank you because their first attendance predated yours.”  He paused, then added, “That’s clever, rather like the establishment of—”

“Please, Mr. Steele.  It’s over my head.”  

He grinned at her discomfort as she sat on the bed in frustration.  “In addition, the Duke of Sinclair and the Duchess of Waverly outrank everyone.  But I’ll be your escort for the week since no one attending ranks between us.  There is a viscount, a baron, a baroness, and two newcomers to Brighton.”

“If I’m counting right, that means you’ve been here three times prior to this, and I’ve come four.  Daniel has attended at least five times since he’s a duke.  Do you think it’s all been under the Sinclair name or is Mr. Lindermann adding up all the pseudonyms?”

Remington laughed.  “I have no idea.  We’ll ask.  You’re catching on though, Lady Holt.  We’ll make a peeress out of you yet.”  

“No, thanks.  Being trussed up like a captured criminal in this outfit is bad enough.  Remembering all the rest is insanity.”

“Trussed up, eh?”

“I’m sitting on the edge of the bed because it’s either that or stand.  Did you know this thing has a wooden stick in the front?”  She looked down—then back up in time to catch Mr. Steele looking in the same direction.  

“Lord Remington!” she admonished.

“’Tis like a bakery, My Lady Holt.  One must peruse the goods on display,” he said with mock sincerity.

She pretended to be irritated as she stood and stalked to the window.  In reality, his words only reminded her where he stood on her “To Do” list.  Itchy and annoyed, she stared out the window—then let her jaw drop in surprise.  “There really is a maze!”  

Remington appeared beside her.  “We’ll get lost in it later.”

But he wasn’t looking out the window.  Feeling like an éclair on a display stand, she snapped, “Mr. Steele?”

“Yes, Miss Holt?”

“Stop staring.  We have a case to solve, remember?”

“I’m merely stepping into character.”

“You’re playing a leering Englishman bent on the seduction of a woman who happens to be your senior in rank?” she retorted.

“If I must.”  His humorous resignation shattered her concerns for the moment, and she laughed helplessly.  The glint in his eyes as he joined in filled her with an odd kind of joy.  Maybe this would be a fun week.    


*****

  
Daniel descended from his carriage, preceding the other guests by virtue of his “rank.”  He concealed his smug grin behind a veneer of charm.  Harry had taken the bait.  

  
         *****  

  
Remington tied the ribbons of Laura’s dress.  Her maid had come to lay out appropriate attire for the evening, just as his valet had done.  Once again though, Laura dismissed the young lady in favor of having him lace her stays and tie the ribbons on her dress.  

If she were anyone but Laura Holt, he would have taken the scenario as an open invitation for unfastening those same ribbons later on with pleasurable consequences.  As it was, he resigned himself to keeping the whole thing rather businesslike.  

Then again, she hadn’t been fending off his advances lately—much.

He finished by fastening a deceptively simple diamond and amethyst cross around her neck.  The tiny purple stones echoed the matching embroidery on her lavender dress.  He frowned.  It wasn’t her best color.  He preferred her in darker tones, not these insipid colors suitable for young girls.  

They appeared separately in the parlor to mingle with the other guests before dinner.  Daniel seemed genuinely surprised by their presence, but Remington knew better than to buy the innocent face.  He sipped his glass of Burgundy.  The vintage wasn’t one of his favorites.  He’d come to prefer the taste of California wines, though a good Champagne was never to be declined.

The Duchess and the other Marchioness cornered Laura.  Remington grinned as he overheard them talking fabrics and embroidery—two subjects guaranteed to bore his partner in under a minute.  Laura’s version of clothes shopping involved zipping through a department store, snagging two dozen outfits off the racks, and trying them on in rapid succession.  In thirty minutes, she could buy a whole new wardrobe and be on her way.  

Daniel tried to stay on the other side of the room, but with only twelve people occupying it, the older man found it impossible to evade Remington for long.  The younger man worked the small crowd effortlessly.  

“Fancy seeing you here, my boy.  Come to take in the countryside?” Daniel asked.  

Remington nodded.  “Laura wanted to come.  Thought it might be a pleasant change of pace.”  The lie tumbled from his lips with ease.  

Daniel choked.  “Linda wanted to come?  I thought the restrictions of the era would be … incompatible with her personality.”  

His mentor had her pegged.  “Yes, well, you know women.  Always changing their minds.” Bloody hell, Laura would have my head on a platter if she heard that.   Remington watched Laura navigate around the two women to begin a conversation with another lady on the far side of the room.  “Tell me, Your Grace, what brings you to this part of the world.”  He flicked the older man’s cravat.  “And with such an illustrious title.  You must attend quite often.”  

Daniel only smiled.  “I like a certain kind of company, Harry.  The grace of the era entertains me, and ... the Duchess and I go back a ways.”

Remington raised his eyebrows.  “You mean to tell me this is your trysting hideaway?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that, my boy.”  He coughed, clearing his throat with a smile.  “But it’s close enough, I think.  Perhaps Lady Holt will be charmed too.”  The sour look on his own face made Daniel’s eyes twinkle.  “Ah, well.  One can only hope.”

The evening entertainment was designed to give the guests a taste of Regency life.  The four courses of dinner gave them time to relax, and the ambient noise of conversation rose throughout the evening.  When the women rose to depart for the drawing room—presumably for more conversation about fabrics—Remington concealed a smile at Laura’s quiet sigh.

A manservant poured port for the men.  Talk began with the weather and ranged through professions, with a quick dip into politics.  Remington spent his time studying the guests as he made idle contributions to the conversation.  Daniel toyed with his wine glass while chatting up Lord Ratcliff, the marquess of the bunch.  The viscount, Lord Royce, had a rather large ego.  Remington suspected a healthy portion of the week’s entertainment would involve puncturing his pride.  Baron Gray was older, perhaps mid-fifties, and made it clear he was there to indulge his wife’s whims.  

The last chap, Sir Lockwood, had a ready grin to go with his curly red hair and made noises about various diversions during the week—mostly of the female kind.  He seemed to have his eye on the young Baroness but made an admiring comment about Lady Holt.  To which, Remington faintly arched his brow.

Lockwood grinned without offense.  “Ah.  She’s all yours, Lord Remington.  But do let me know if I shall regret my loss.”

“I’m quite certain you’ll find adequate consolation given the level of flirtation at your end of the table.”  

“That I will, old chap.”  Lockwood chewed on his cigar and rocked back in his chair in amused contemplation of his options.    


*****

  
Daniel noted the exchange, admiring the slickness with which Harry warned off the competition.  Harry, my boy, it’s time you made a change.  Life’s too short to be wasting about in this manner.  He sipped his port, reflecting.  His boy was getting soft.  

  
           *****

  
Laura stripped off her gloves, one at a time, with care for the silk fabric, oblivious to the effect she was having on Remington.  He tugged his ear lobe, tried not to think about the satiny, freckled skin being revealed an inch or two at a time, and shifted awkwardly to accommodate the rush of blood to his nether regions.  

She stopped a foot away from him, bare hands on hips.  “You weren’t listening.”

“Of course, I was.”

Laughing, she walked toward her door.  “No, and I can’t blame you.  I was bored silly in there.  Is that all women really talked about?  Fabric?  Stitches?  Men?”  She reached behind her and tugged the ribbons on the ivory gown free.  The front sagged.  She shrugged out of it, pulling it over her head as she disappeared into her room.  

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stifled his growing frustration as she kept talking from her side of the doorway.  He yanked off his boots and set them on the floor.

She returned, wearing only the stays and the low-cut undergarment.  Her hair was unpinned.  “Surely there is more to this week than sitting around wringing hands over titles.”

He tugged her close so that she stood between his legs.  One thick tress lay at her throat.  He wound it around his finger.  “No, but it’s early yet.  Everyone’s trying to be perfect members of the Regency ton at the moment.  By the end of the week, you’ll be wearing nothing under your gown and dampening your skirts so they cling as you walk.”  The image did absolutely nothing to cool his rapidly developing problem.  

Laura turned.  Looking back over her shoulder, she asked, “Would you unlace me?”  The sly smile should have clued him in, but he was too busy letting his hands slide across her naked shoulders to notice.  He wasn’t really thinking when he pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades as he began to draw the string from the eyelets.  

With the stays loose, Laura drew in a deep breath.  “Ah, oxygen.”  She turned, cupped his cheek and kissed the opposite side.  “The lack of it must account for my forward nature, m’lord.  If you’ll forgive me, I must go change.”  She wiggled out of his hands, leaving him clutching air.  

“Change?”  His strangled voice drew a smile from her.

“We’ve got work to do, Mr. Steele.”  She closed the door behind her.  

Since ripping off the bedpost and tossing it like a Scottish caber wasn’t an option, he cranked the shower on full cold as he divested himself of his own clothes.

Later, modern black jeans and a button down shirt of the same color from his trunk settled him as he dressed.  He eyed Laura’s door.  Only after some of the blood flow had returned to his brain had an appreciative grin crossed his face.  So that’s how we’re playing it now, Miss Holt.   She’d finally, finally, turned the tables on him.  For three weeks now, he’d been running a quiet game of seduction on her.  Had they not been interrupted by Daniel’s mischief, he’d planned to up the ante this week.  It appeared now she’d not only caught on, she wasn’t going to let him deal all the cards.  

That was fine by him.  He always had a spare or two up his sleeves.

 

 


	3. Monday

Three twenty.  Laura staggered into her room as the last bit of energy dribbled away.  The adrenaline generated by a late-night search had long since vanished.  She and Remington had mentally tagged every possible item in the house that bore a resemblance to the ones already stolen.  Harold had told them in the initial interview that all the items were taken from public rooms.  It was Mildred who pointed out that any sort of search done before the rest of the guests arrived might tip off a passing servant—hence, the midnight foray.  

Remington must have been equally tired, for he’d merely brushed a kiss on her temple as they separated in the hallway.  

At home, she would have slept in her clothes, but Mildred would be here by eight, and Harold had promised to arrange a discreet meeting in the woods for the pair of them to exchange information.  A maid under the impression Lady Holt liked early morning rides would wake her at seven.  I hope I don’t regret that later in the week.  

The clothes went into the trunk.  Clad in her own short pajamas, Laura collapsed in bed.  

Moments later, a light knock at the door woke her.  She rolled over, squinted—and discovered the soft morning sun warming the draperies.  The maid bustled in with toast—and a pot of something Laura hoped was tea—on a silver tray.  The tray went at the foot of the bed.  The young girl set about opening drapes and laying out a riding habit for her mistress.

“Good morning.”  Laura pasted a pleasant expression on her face.  She poured from the pot and was surprised to see hot chocolate coming from the spout.  Chocolate and toast?  The unexpected treat brightened her mood.  

“Good morning, Lady Holt.”

Her chin came up.  “You don’t have to call me that when we’re in private.  What is your name?”

The girl dipped a curtsy.  “Meg, my lady.  And it would be improper to call you by any other name.  May I help you dress?”

Shrugging, Laura turned her hand up to indicate her cooperation.  “Give me fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, milady.”  Meg bobbed another curtsy and slipped out of the room.  

Laura found a folded sheet of paper was hidden between the towels in the bathroom.  In his bold handwriting, Remington had made a neat list of the items they’d identified as possible targets and their current location for her to give to Mildred.

She was sure he’d had a bit of amusement over letting her wonder how long he’d stayed in her bedroom.  Yet another reminder that the man had spent the better portion of his life as a thief.

A fast shower cleared away the cobwebs left from the scant hours of sleep.  She drew on the shift and was drying her hair with a towel when Meg returned.  The maid handed the various pieces of the costume to Laura and professionally settled the stays and ribbons holding the outfit together.  The fabric of the top dress was heavier than the others she’d worn yesterday.  More durable, Laura supposed, for being outdoors.  

“I’ve got half boots for you, Lady Holt.  They are quite avant-garde for the Regency era but safer than slippers for riding.”  

Laura nodded.  She sat on the edge of the bed to slide them on, then fumbled as the yards and yards of fabric defeated her.  “Oh, damn.  How am I supposed to ride with all these layers?”

“I’ll show you, milady.  Here—”  The maid assisted Laura with the boots, then showed her how to stand and carry the extra layers of material while she walked.  

 

Laura had actually ridden sidesaddle in her teens.  Her mother had enrolled her in a summer riding academy two years in a row.  In the second year, the girls experimented with the odd technique for a couple of weeks.  With the groom’s assistance and a short stepping block, she settled onto a sweet thoroughbred mare named Sunrise.  Meg arranged her skirts so they draped properly.  

“Thank you, Meg.”  She lifted the reins and Sunrise eagerly broke into a trot.  

They followed a narrow path that quickly took them into the woods, making Laura uneasy.  The tall trees and silence of nature unsettled her in a way L.A. with its noisy traffic and crush of people from all walks of life never could.  She took comfort from her mare who seemed confident about the trail.

“I hope you know where you are going, Sunrise.  All I’ve got is a vague instruction to stick to the path and stay to the left.”  

The brisk morning air felt good.  Harold told her that the journey to the meeting point would take nearly half an hour on the winding trail.  He was right, and the instructions turned out to be accurate.  Without much warning, the path broke free of the woods, opening up to a rock-covered road.  Mildred, clad in a pale grey servant’s dress, had already descended from a plain black carriage.  Harold himself held the reins.  

“Good morning, Lady Holt.”  He nodded in her direction.

She returned it.  “Good morning, Lord Brighton.”  She exchanged happy faces with Mildred over their respective costumes.  “Mildred, forgive me, but if I get off this horse, I’ll never get back on.”  Laura reined in Sunrise so they could walk a little away from Harold.

“That’s okay, Miss Holt.  Pretty clever of you to arrange for Mr. Lindermann, ah, Lord Brighton, to come get me.”

“I didn’t want the other servants to know you are with us.  What did Harold suggest for you to do?”

“I’m going to be a cook’s assistant.  Everyone knows that the kitchen is where the gossip is.”  Mildred shrugged.  “Give me a couple of days, and I’ll be able to tell you if anyone is on the take.”  

Laura nodded.  “I think you’re right.  Mr. Steele and I went through the house last night looking for hiding places and identifying anything that might be at risk.”  She drew the folded paper from her pocket.  “Mr. Steele wrote out a list.  Keep it close.”

“Sure thing,  Miss Holt.  Oh, I checked with all the shops and art dealers Mr. Steele mentioned.  None of the stolen stuff has turned up yet.  And the police have bupkis.  If it’s been sold, it wasn’t around here.”

Laura rubbed her eyebrow.  “That’s likely.  But keep an eye out.  It’s possible an employee has hidden some of it in his or her room and hasn’t disposed of it yet.”

“An employee?  Isn’t Daniel our culprit?”

“Mr. Steele doesn’t think so.”  

“But you don’t agree?” Mildred asked shrewdly.

“I don’t know.  It’s odd that we haven’t found any trace of the stolen items.  I would think at least one of them would have turned up somewhere.  But if Daniel had them, he could have easily taken them back to England and sold them there.  None of this makes sense, Mildred.”

“In what way?”

“We’re hired to find stolen goods.  That’s not unusual.  So we run our regular traces, bribe a few art dealers and check with the police.  Nothing comes up.  Harold told us yesterday that Daniel recommended our agency to find the thieves … which seems to indicate he’s either being honest and helpful for the first time in his life—”  Mildred’s doubtful look had Laura nodding in agreement.  “Or he’s set us up because he needs our help to pull off whatever scheme he’s got up his sleeve.”  

“That sounds more like Daniel.”  

“But Mr. Steele is convinced Daniel doesn’t have anything to do with these thefts.”  Laura’s agitation got through to Sunrise who began side-stepping in response.  She patted the horse’s neck to settle her.  She reined in again and the mare steadied.  “Mildred, keep an eye out.  I don’t know what we’re doing here.  When it comes to Daniel Chalmers and our Mr. Steele, anything can happen.”  

Mildred grimaced.  “That it can.  So what’s our next move?”

Laura twitched her skirts solemnly.  Then, with an abnormally bright cheeriness, she recited, “Riding this morning, breakfast, embroidery, a late afternoon picnic, and some sort of entertainment this evening.  Somehow I have to pretend to be a Regency marchioness interested in sewing, gossip, and talking about the most eligible bachelors.  Apparently, there is a great deal of concern about money, titles and gambling skills.  In the meantime, I have to figure out how to outwit a con artist.”

Chuckling at Laura’s dismay, Mildred reached out and patted her hand.  “Well, you have practice at that.  Try to have fun, anyway.  I’ll be baking bread in the kitchen.”

“If you find anything, let me know.”

“You too, Miss Holt.”  Mildred started to walk away.  She stopped mid-step, drew a letter from the pocket of her gown, and handed it to Laura.  “I, uh, brought a letter for Mr. Steele.  It came yesterday to the office.  It … seems important.”

Laura glanced at the envelope.  The return address was for the Immigration & Naturalization Service, and it was addressed to “Remington Steele.”

“You read it?” she asked.  

Mildred shrugged unapologetically.  “I think he might need to see this letter.  There’s a deadline in there he won’t want to miss.”

Laura pursed her lips, confused.  “I’ll make sure he gets it." 

She waved once, then turned her horse back to the trail and trotted away from the carriage.  Mildred was proving to be more and more of an asset as a detective.  Quite frankly, she had saved their butts with the disaster over the Pick-6 ticket.  Laura kicked herself for not thinking of having Mildred in place earlier.  She did such a fantastic job of holding down the office that Laura sometimes forgot the former IRS agent could do excellent undercover work too.

Sunrise took them through a small copse of trees.  When she was sure no one could see her, Laura reined in, bringing the horse to a halt.  She tugged the letter from the envelope with her kid-gloved hands, shaking it out with a snap that seemed too loud in the quiet wood.  

 

Mr. Steele,  
  


A recent check of your United States Passport has recorded an error.  A document has been improperly reported.  To remedy this error, you must provide one of the following:  
  


1\. A valid U.S. Certified Birth Certificate.  A certified birth certificate has a registrar's raised, embossed, impressed or multicolored seal, registrar's signature, and the date the certificate was filed with the registrar's office, which must be within one year of your birth, or

2\. A valid U.S. Naturalization Certificate, or

3\. Pursuant to Chapter 12, Subchapter II, Part I, Section 1154 of the United States Immigration & Naturalization Act (Title 8), you must provide proof of marriage to a U.S. citizen.  Any citizen of the United States claiming that an alien is entitled to classification by reason of a relationship described in paragraph (1), (3), or (4) of section [1153(a)](http://www.fourmilab.ch/uscode/8usc/www/t8-12-II-I-1153.html#_a_) of this title or to an immediate relative status under section [1151(b)(2)(A)(i)](http://www.fourmilab.ch/uscode/8usc/www/t8-12-II-I-1151.html#_b__2__A__i_) of this title may file a petition with the Attorney General for such classification.  

 

Adequate documentation or petition must be provided to the office listed below by close of business, May 9, 1986.  

Failure to provide adequate documentation will result in your immediate deportation to your home country.  Penalties for Document Fraud can be found under Part VIII, Section 1324c of the above referenced Act.

 

Sincerely,

 

Estelle Becker

 

Investigations Bureau

Los Angeles Field Office

300 N. Los Angeles St

Los Angeles, CA

 

Laura re-read the paper in shock.  Then she meticulously folded the letter and placed it back into the envelope.  She ran a finger along the edge, found a trace of glue, dampened it with a wet fingertip and sealed it.  After a brief search for her dress pocket , she tucked it inside.  She clicked to Sunrise and pushed her into a hard gallop down the narrow path. For fifteen minutes, her mind was incoherent.  She lost herself in the movement of horse and rider, deliberately not thinking of the significance of what she’d read.

When the trail opened into a wide glade, she pulled up at the sight of another horse and rider on the opposite side.  She didn’t want company.  She wanted—she didn’t know what she wanted—but it certainly wasn’t to interact with any of the other guests.    

She remembered Lord Royce from last evening and hadn’t been much impressed.  He tipped his tall beaver hat as she drew Sunrise past his horse.  “Good morning, Lady Holt.  I’m delighted to discover you enjoy morning rides as well.”

“Occasionally.  Good morning, Lord Royce.”  She held out her hand.  

“Please, call me Anthony.”  He laid a kiss onto her knuckles.

The gracious gesture might have amused her on another day, but with her head spinning in confusion, she could hardly think.  But she did remember Remington’s tutelage.  “Lord Royce, we are not yet acquainted.  Such familiarity wouldn’t be proper.”  

“If you insist, Lady Holt.  Would you care to take a turn about the countryside?  We can call a groom if you like.”  

She didn’t like the dark gleam in his brown eyes.  Lord Royce was a good-looking man, probably of Italian lineage with his stocky build.  The tailcoat and breeches proved his mass was solid muscle, not flab.  She shook her head.  “I think it’s time to let poor Sunrise rest.  I’ve kept her out a while.”  She pretended to flick a bead of sweat from the horse’s neck.  

His eyes narrowed in disbelief but smiled affably.  “Then I’ll look forward to breakfast, my lady.”  He nodded in place of a proper bow.

Laura returned the nod without comment.  She lifted her reins again and bolted for the stable.  Lord Royce disturbed her, and she didn’t know why.  Yet.  


*****

  
Remington paced outside the stable as he waited for Laura’s return.  When she did, his mouth curved up.  Like it or not, Laura in a blue velvet riding habit was extraordinary.  Her natural grace and pretty seat paired well with the magnificent horse she rode.  The mare seemed to know her rider’s beauty and almost pranced into the yard.   But something wasn’t right.  He could see it in Laura’s stiff posture and the firmly-pasted smile on her face.  

She drew near him, handing the reins to a waiting groom.  With a fleeting glance at the young man, her eyes came back to his.  “Good morning, Lord Remington.”

“Good morning, Lady Holt.  Please, allow me to assist you.”  Her eyes widened as he firmly clasped his hands about her waist and lifted her from the saddle to set her on her feet.  

“Um, thank you,” she said with a flush of pink on her cheeks.

Damn, he loved flustering her—and admired her beautiful recovery.

She gathered up the train of her riding habit in one hand and laid her other on his arm.  “Shall we walk, Lord Remington?  I believe I’m quite famished.  I do hope breakfast has been laid out.”

“Indeed it has, Lady Holt.  How was your ride this morning?”

“Lovely.  The path is quite beautiful.  Perhaps you would join me tomorrow?”

“I would be honored.”  

The moment they stepped inside the doors, Laura dug in her pocket.  “I’ve a letter for you.  My … maid brought it up and asked that I make certain you receive it.”  

Remington glanced at the return address.  Ignoring his trepidation, he slipped it inside his pocket and kissed her still-gloved fingertips.  “My thanks.”  Laura’s face reflected her curiosity and concern.  But now wasn’t the time.

He brushed fingers across her cheek, hoping to distract her.  “If riding puts this lovely tint to your cheeks always, I shall buy you a stable of horses so that you may partake each morning.”

She laughed.  “I think someone got into the brandy too early this morning.”

“If I appeared less than well-mannered, I offer my sincerest apologies.  But, my Lady Holt, ’tis your own person I find intoxicating to my senses.”  He pinned her with his eyes as he gave a little bow.    


*****

  
Although she still worried about the letter, Laura discovered she wasn’t immune to the Regency version of Remington’s charm.  She searched his face, looking for deception or amusement—and found none.  Playing along with the game, she tried to frame her reply appropriately.  “I … fail to find fault in your excellent manners.  I am … unused to such flattering descriptions of me … of my person.”  

“Then I shall endeavor to make certain they fall upon your ears often.”  He held out a hand.  “Shall we repair to breakfast?”  She nodded, and he smoothly tucked her proffered hand under his arm.  “I’ve discovered I’m quite … famished.”  The thread of heat in his voice didn’t surprise her, but rather than finding him grinning at her with an arched brow, she saw a dark intensity in his blue eyes that disconcerted her with its sincerity.  Laura steeled herself.  Remington played the gallant rake all too easily, and she was no more resistant to it than an innocent debutante.  

But she had a number of advantages over a chit fresh out of the schoolroom, not the least being four years of practice at dealing with the rake in question.  Tilting her head, she let her gaze drift southward for a moment, then flicked it back to his face.  “Famished … an excellent way to describe my current predicament.”

She had the satisfaction of seeing Remington miss a step as he escorted her to the manor house.   


  
*****

  
The ladies disappeared after the morning meal, leaving the men to their own devices.  In the solitude of his room, Remington tore open the letter.  

Damn Keyes.  Laura had signed a contract with Vigilance Insurance to conduct certain investigations for them.  The company had been impressed with the agency after the recovery of an enormous cache of diamonds.  But the lead investigator had been furious.  Keyes had called him a few days ago.

I don’t like you, Steele.  You’ve crossed a line, and I’m going to see you fall.  You see, you aren’t the only investigator that likes to do a little private work.  And I’ve discovered you have a small problem.  Don’t be surprised when INS gives you a call.  I’m getting rid of you for good.  And if I’m lucky, Miss Holt will be right there with you.  

He let out a quiet string of curses that would have made Laura blush.  

Laura’s gift to him in London, a passport bearing the name she’d given him and a precious key to coming home with her, had become a liability.  There was absolutely no reason for the INS to run a check on his passport unless someone—someone as nasty as Keyes—had tipped them off.  She’d never told him how she’d obtained it.  He’d been rather proud of her ability to produce one on short notice and so bloody happy to not be stuck in London without her that he hadn’t pressed.  Sometimes questions were better left unasked.  

A birth certificate would solve his problems, but if Keyes had told INS he was an illegal, wouldn’t they want some other kind of proof he was here legally?  He could ask Laura to marry him but doubted she would be interested in a fake marriage just to keep him on this side of the Atlantic.  A questionable passport was one thing.  A questionable marriage?  Not exactly Miss Holt’s style.

He dropped his head into his hands, damning the timing of it all.  

Laura was coming around.  Their flirtation had stepped up from saucy comments to heady innuendo—on both sides.  Last night’s dance with the laces was a perfect example.  He wanted her.  Wanted her so much his bollocks ached most of the time.  But he wanted her to come to him.  Anything else would give her an avenue of escape.  And he bloody well knew she wouldn’t come to him until she’d come to terms with all of her own desires and insecurities.  It was the singular characteristic about her that annoyed him as much as he admired it.  

No, he couldn’t ask Laura to marry him under these circumstances.  A false marriage would be a death knell to her pride.  What woman wants a commitment based on avoiding deportation?  

He wondered … could he get married long enough to settle things with INS, then divorce without Laura’s knowledge?  With the right participant, it might work—and would buy him that most precious commodity Laura needed—time.  It would bear some thinking.   


*****

  
Sitting in a room with five women, Laura stifled a yawn again—and not just because she’d had a scant four hours of sleep.  She randomly stabbed a needle through the fabric, making a mess of the threads.

A young woman in her mid-twenties playing Baroness Esterberg glanced over.  “Not into embroidery?”

Laura sighed. “Not in the slightest.”

“We could do watercolors.”  

“Can’t paint.  Or draw.”

“Do you like to read?  I think we have Fordyce’s Sermons in the library.”

Laura smiled.  The girl was working very hard to stay in character.  “I think I’ll take my chances with the needle.”

“Oh.”  The Baroness thought for a moment, then brightened.  “Can you play the pianoforte?  Some music would be lovely.”  

Grateful for the suggestion, Laura dropped the fabric and thread on the sofa beside her.  “That I can do.”  

She sat at the bench, warmed up her fingers, and laid them on the keys.  Later, she wouldn’t recall exactly what she played.  Her hands moved of their own volition while her mind turned over the implications of the letter.  

Logically, she took them one at a time.  First, without Mr. Steele, the agency would suffer for perhaps a year or more.  She could cover his absence for a while, but he’d become an integral part of the business.  Whether or not she liked admitting it, a healthy portion of their client base preferred dealing with him over her.  Not only that, it would take time to hire a detective with his skills.  Admit it, Laura, no one has his instincts.   

Which brought her to the second point: their partnership.  His abilities and background paired with her acumen for the business gave them the ability to beat the odds time and again on tough cases.  Mildred certainly lent a hand and was getting better all the time, but it wasn’t quite the same.  If anything, Mildred was more like Murphy—steady, methodical, and a whiz with talking to bureaucrats.    

She didn’t really want a new partner.  Her fingers slammed on the keys in denial, but her traitorous thoughts took her where she didn’t want to go.  

Last summer, when Mr. Steele took off to London, she’d been crushed—and not as a professional.  When she’d found him, he’d promised not to leave her again.  Now, all because of the passport she’d given him, he might not have a choice.  

What was with that anyway?   None of it made any sense.  Long ago, Murphy had helped Laura create a birth certificate for Mr. Steele.  With it, they’d obtained a driver’s license, a social security card—and ultimately, a passport.   The birth certificate hadn’t been hard, really.  A little cash and the right connections at the registrar’s office had put a signed and sealed document in Laura’s hands.  A brand new American citizen had been born in that moment; his name was Remington Steele, and no one could prove otherwise.  

All she had to do now to keep Remington in the country was to give him the certificate to take to the INS office to prove he was a U.S. citizen.  

But why would the INS ask to look at the underlying documentation?  It had taken some fast work on Laura’s part to have a passport created in Los Angeles, where she still had connections in the right places, and overnighted to London.  By now, no one should have known the identification had been created first and the paperwork filed later.   No, the passport itself shouldn’t have tripped any alarms, and beyond having an attendant take a look at it as they boarded the plane home, Mr. Steele hadn’t used it.  

Which means somebody had tipped off INS, she mused.  Someone with a grudge against Mr. Steele.  In that case, any birth certificate would be automatically assumed to be false.  Proving otherwise might take time they didn’t have, given that May ninth was only twelve days away.  She wondered who could have done such a thing, then gave up after a minute or two.  They had a long client list plus a whole host of unhappy culprits.  

But if Mr. Steele was married to an American citizen, the whole case would be moot, wouldn’t it?  

Laura played on, entrancing the ladies with the soaring notes.   


*****

  
Remington leaned against the wall outside the drawing room.  He had a brandy in his hand and swirled it absently.  Lord Royce and Lord Gray made low conversation over billiards in the next room over.  He ignored the clack of the balls in favor of listening.  Laura had played for him once at his request but had been shy about the keys.  He’d considered her well-taught but not necessarily talented.    

He was wrong.  Laura’s love of music poured from the piano, leaving him staggered by the depths and richness of the sound.  He knew little about the instrument but from the first notes had known who sat on the bench to create a work of art.

Daniel strolled down the hall and stopped in front of the closed doors.  “Lovely music.  Who is gifting us with her talent?”

Remington only raised an eyebrow.  “Can’t you guess?” he asked quietly before he sipped.  

“Linda?”  Daniel tsked, then coughed a couple of times.  “It takes deep waters to hide that kind of passion.”

He nearly choked on the brandy but forced it down with a manful swallow.  “That’s … an astute observation, Your Grace.”  

The older man seemed to stare off into the distance.  Idly, he asked, “What are your plans, Harry?  Haven’t you wasted enough time waiting for her to come around?”

The blunt question shocked him, although he automatically jumped to her defense.  “She’s turned into quite a girl, Daniel.”  

“Hm.  They always do until they get what they want.  What exactly does she want from you?”  The question floored him, but his mentor didn’t wait for an answer.  “I must say, I never could understand your attraction to Linda.”

“Laura,” he corrected.  This conversation was beginning to irritate him.  But being irritated with Daniel was a sure fire way to lose a match of wits with the con man—so he suppressed it as he’d been taught.

“Linda, Laura—there have been so many, it’s hard to keep track.  Do you remember the Contessa?”

Instantly, an image of blonde bombshell beauty and a sulky pout popped into his head.  He couldn’t help the laugh.  “Ah, yes, the one with the birthmark.”

“You see?  So many.  Such a shame to tie yourself to just one.”

Yes, but they aren’t Laura.  My turn.  With a false cheerfulness in his voice, he lightly punched Daniel in the shoulder.  “Ah, Daniel, damn you.  You’ve always been such an incurable romantic.  Now listen; tell me.  About this house—are you on the up and up, or are you intending to ... ah ... relieve the castle of all its treasures?”

“Oh, it’s the straight and narrow for me, Harry,” Daniel assured him.  “Living on the edge can become a bit trying as a steady diet.”

There was something in Daniel’s voice that bothered him.  He pressed lightly.  “Who would have thought it, eh?  The two of us making an honest go of it after all these years?”

“Neither one of us is getting any younger, my boy.”  Daniel gave him an odd look.  

“Tell me,” Remington asked, “if you had to do it all again, would you change anything?”

Daniel let out a sardonic laugh.  “A few things.  Here and there.”  Before Remington could coax any more information out of his mentor, Daniel nodded and strode down the hallway—leaving him alone with more questions than answers.   


*****

  
Someone touched Laura’s shoulder, startling her.  Baroness Esterberg only smiled.  “You play beautifully.”

“Oh.  Thank you.  It’s been a while since I’ve had the luxury to play for an extended period of time.”

“If I had your talent, I think I would spend all my days playing.”

Laura smiled at the sweet girl.  “That would be a luxury.”  Seeing that the other women were rising and putting away their tasks, Laura asked, “What sort of entertainment have we now?”

The Baroness stepped aside so Laura could stand, then threaded her arm through Laura’s to walk in unison to the door.  “I believe we will have a picnic this afternoon in the garden.  This evening, there will be card games in the parlour.”  

“What sort of card games?”

“Whist, I think.  You’ll need a good partner.”

“I can find one.”  

“Oh, do you have someone in mind?”

Laura tried for a shy smile as they ascended the stairs.  “I rather like the looks of Lord Remington.”

The Baroness frowned.  “But Lord Royce was asking about you earlier.”

“Lord Royce?  I saw him this morning as I returned from my ride.”

“Ah.  That must be it.  He’s quite taken with you.”

Laura doubted that.  They had been merely introduced last night and had spoken for only a moment this morning.  But in the spirit of the game, she replied, “Then I shall see if my interest is piqued as well.”  She waited for a moment outside her door.  “Thank you for your company, Lady Esterberg.”

The young lady dipped a curtsy.  “You are most welcome, Lady Holt.”  

The moment Laura closed the door, she let the smile drop as she stalked to the connecting door and knocked.  

A muffled voice from the other side sounded annoyed.  “Come in.  You can help with this damned vest while you’re here.”  Laura found Remington struggling to divest himself of the tightly fitting waistcoat.  As she closed in, he gave her an automatic bow.  She curtsied in response.  They both burst into laughter.  

While she unbuckled the back of the garment, in that absent-minded fashion she knew was anything but, he asked, “What’s on your mind, Laura?”

Tossing the waistcoat over the chair, she threw up her hands and paced.  “I can’t solve a case this way.  There’s nothing to do except hang around, hope something gets stolen, and then hope we can find it before it gets sold.  That’s no way to solve a case!”

“It’s all we’ve got at the moment.”

“Did you talk to Daniel?”

“Sort of.  He swears he’s on the straight and narrow.”

“If his straight and narrow is anything like yours, that’s not very promising.”

Remington’s full lips curved.  “It’s all we’ve got.”  

“So now what?  Tea parties and charades?”  She stuck her hands on her hips.  

“Something like that.”  The low sensuality in his voice warned her.

She took two steps backward, stopping when her hip connected with the writing desk.  He followed, sliding a hand around the curve of her neck.  “I know this.  If we have nothing to do but wait, I’m damned sure not going to waste a moment of it.”  

He kissed the soft flesh below her ear, then blew on it.  The cold air made her shiver.  Her hands dug into the folds of his shirt as he made a journey from her neck to her lips.  By the time he fastened his mouth to hers, she had one hand in his hair, urging him closer.  Laura couldn’t get enough of his spicy flavor.  She craved it, taking the kiss past making out and into dangerous waters. 

Kisses stolen after work weren’t enough anymore.  In the back of her head, she knew they had to change clothes and attend the silly picnic, but at the moment, she didn’t care.  Perhaps it was the letter and the possibility of losing Mr. Steele altogether, but Laura wasn’t interested in keeping any sort of distance between them right now.  Shy to verbalize it, she let her hands do the talking by sliding them inside the fabric of Remington’s shirt.  He inhaled at her touch, his hands fisting in her hair—which she now realized was hanging loose on her shoulders, freed of its pins by his clever hands.

“Laura?”

“Hmm?”  She pressed a kiss to his chest before looking up.  

He pulled back.  “Are you quite certain?”

“I’d like to see you without that shirt, Mr. Steele.”

The pure joy she saw in his expression stunned her.  She drank it in, then had to close her eyes when he skimmed a single finger along the inside edge of her bodice, coming dangerously close to the pink tip of her breast.  

Yearning for that first brush of flesh to flesh, her breath came in soft pants as she tried to take in enough oxygen.  Restrained by the stays, she gasped out, “Get me out of this thing.”  

Like a little boy just handed a bag of his favorite candy, he grinned.  “Not yet.”  

Her eyes crossed as he dipped a thumb inside the fabric to caress a taut peak, just once.  His mouth hovered near her ear as he whispered, “Laura—”

“Yes?”

“This is going to take a while.”  

“I was afraid of that.”

If there was to be tension between them, this first time, it shattered as both of them laughed at her breathless quip.  He took pity on her, unlacing first the dress, then loosening the stays underneath so she could breathe without having spots dancing in her vision.  But he stopped her when she made to disrobe.

“Let me.  Please.”    

She hesitated with the fabric in her hands.  She had always been uncomfortable letting a man undress her  But she nodded anyway.  

Remington leaned against the desk, loosening the buttons on his shirt so that it hung open.  With sure hands on her waist, he fit her to him--her back to his bare chest.  They stayed that way, connected, letting heat build between them.  Remington didn't seem to be in any hurry.  He brushed his lips along her neck, taking his time.  His hands wandered, nudging the fabric to reveal the curve of a shoulder.

For someone who teased her about taking her time unwrapping a gift, Remington gave her exactly the same respect, savoring every inch of flesh revealed.  

She shifted her hips to prod him into moving faster.   

“Oh, no, my Laura.  Too much of that and we’ll not make it to the bed.”  He used his thigh to shift her away from his heat, making her groan in frustration.

“Would that be so bad?” she demanded.

“I’m not rushing this, Miss Holt.”  But he did slide his hand underneath the layers of fabric to cup the slight weight of her breast.  The sweet caress tickled, then made her twitch when he expertly plucked the tip.  “Like that, hmm?”    

With the dress restricting her movements and his hands creating exquisite friction, she fought the increasing pleasure—needing to retain some sort of control over her own reactions.  

She turned, breaking their embrace, only to find his face damp with perspiration.  In wonder, she stroked his forehead.  “You’re sweating.”

He blinked, the dilated black pupils making his irises seem indigo in the warm light.  “I'm nervous, Laura.  If I don’t make this right, you might not let me do it again.”

“Then you have incentive to do well.”  She flicked a saucy look at him and took her time sliding his shirt off.  With sure fingers, she traced lines on his shoulders before drawing her fingers down to play with his navel.  On the return trip, she circled the flat nipples before leaning in to touch one with her tongue.  

“Bloody hell, Laura.”  He jerked the fabric of her dress down, then lifted her to her toes to capture an aching peak between his lips.  Her nails scraped bare flesh while he feasted, suckling, licking, even nipping where he pleased.  Pleasure flashed over her, taking her abruptly to the precipice.  He held her there on the crest, then, with his free hand, he pressed her hips hard into his.  Even through the layers of fabric, his own arousal was unmistakable.  Caught helplessly in the wave of pleasure, she broke with it, clutching at black hair with one hand and his muscled shoulder with the other.  

He traced a path with his mouth to her throat as she trembled afterward.  For a moment, he simply held her while she regained her footing.  Or so she thought until she felt the stays slacken further.  

Shooting him a wicked look, she stepped back.  “I think you’re right.”

His face was pure masculine frustration.  “About what?”

“This is going to take a while.”  

His sudden grin faded away at the knocking on her door.  It returned briefly when Laura uttered a word she rarely used as she scrambled to her room.  

“Yes?” she called out.

“It’s Meg, Lady Holt.  I’ve come to dress you for the picnic.”  

Remington had followed and stood in the doorway.  At Laura’s questioning look, he shrugged.  

“Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be ready for you.”

“Yes, Lady Holt.”  

Laura returned to his embrace, dropping her head back.  “Do we manage in fifteen minutes or do we wait?”  

“I’m going to regret this in about thirty seconds, Laura.  We wait.  I want time to—”  He let one hand trail from her brow, to her jaw, to the curve of her breast, to her hip.  “Discover exactly what I’ve been missing all these years.  Just—”  He swallowed hard.

“Just what?”

“Don’t change your mind.”  

“Not this time, Mr. Steele.”   


 

*****

  
Laura wondered if anyone would miss the looks Remington shot her across the picnic blankets.  Under hooded lids, he let his eyes retrace everywhere his hands had been a scant hour ago.  

Providence had separated them, or Laura might have dragged him off into the woods by now.  Three enormous picnic blankets had been laid under the broad trees near the lake.  Laura, Lady Esterberg, Lord Royce, and Lord Ratcliff occupied one; Daniel, Duchess Waverly, Lady Ratcliff, and Lord Gray filled the second; Remington had his hands full with Miss Tate and Lady Gray.  Sir Lockwood happily joined in that particular fray.  

Laura had to tolerate Anthony’s fawning throughout the long meal.  Her attempts at warding him off proved futile.  

Sally, as Lady Esterberg invited her to call her, had noticed Remington’s gaze.  She leaned in, whispering, “That man is being rather forward.  Perhaps you should lock your room tonight.”

“A locked room wouldn’t stop him,” Laura murmured.  Sally made a questioning sound, and Laura shook her head.  “Sorry, woolgathering.”

“Daydreaming is more like it.  Would you care to take a walk by the lake, Lady Holt?”

“That would be delightful.”  Anything to get away from this.  The two women rose, Sally more gracefully than Laura, as if she were used to the style of dress.  Laura was slightly envious.  

Of course, Lord Royce pressed his advantage.  “A walk sounds great.  Do you want to join us, Lord Ratcliff?” he asked the older man.  

“Ah, no.  I think I’ll rest here a bit.  You younglings enjoy yourself.”  

Laura raised her eyebrows in question at Remington.  His mouth twitched as he leaned away from Miss Tate again.  A slight jerk of his chin told her he’d be along shortly.  

Stuck with Sally and Anthony for the time being, she supposed it was too much to hope that Lord Royce would take an interest in Sally.  When Sir Lockwood rapidly closed the distance to walk on the other side of Sally, that hope shattered.  Laura did her best to make it a threesome as they talked about the birds on the water but eventually gave in to the pair’s obvious interest in each other and stepped back to walk with Anthony.  

“Sir Lockwood seems quite enamored with Lady Esterberg,” Anthony offered.

“He does indeed.”  

“One only hopes the feelings are mutual.”  

“It’s rather early to tell.  After all, they’ve only just met.”

“Sometimes all it takes is a moment, Lady Holt.”

Thinking of her first look at Remington when he walked into her office, she nodded thoughtfully with a small smile.  “Yes, that is quite true.”

“Then perhaps you won’t think me too forward if I ask you to partner with me at cards tonight.”

Laura stopped to stare at him in surprise.  Am I reading too much into this or is he coming on to me?   “I, uh, have already been asked.”  She hadn’t, of course.  

“Then I regret I have moved too slowly.  I won’t make that mistake again.”  He dipped his head to indicate they should keep walking, letting his gaze linger a touch too long.  

Damn.  This was a complication she didn’t need.  Between Daniel and Remington, her hands were full.  Think of something, Holt.  

“Lady Holt, Lord Royce,” Remington said from somewhere behind her.  She turned with a grateful smile.  That Lady Gray and Miss Tate flanked him didn’t really bother her, especially when she could read the faint annoyance in his eyes.  

She remembered to greet the ladies first.  “Lady Gray, Miss Tate, Lord Remington.  We were discussing the card games scheduled for later this evening.”

Miss Tate immediately turned to Remington.  “You must ask me to be your partner.  I’m quite good at Whist,” she simpered.

“Ah, my apologies, Miss Tate.  I do believe I am promised to Lady Holt.”  

Anthony snorted with derision beside her.  “Miss Tate, having been declined by Lady Holt for precisely the same reason, I’d be delighted to be your partner this evening.”

Miss Tate made a moue of her lips, then shot Laura an amused look.  Confused by it, Laura mulled over its meaning for the rest of the walk.

After the card games were over, she got her answer.  She’d excused herself from the parlor after the games were finished with the plea of a headache.  She didn’t have one but should have with the way Remington and Anthony had spent the better portion of the evening trading subtle insults—ostensibly about the card play, but no one missed the references to physical … ability.  

With a desire to test out Remington’s claims, Laura ascended the staircase to her room with a smile.  

Two minutes later, she answered a knock at the door.  Miss Tate and Sally spilled in, giggling madly, carrying wine glasses and an apparently stolen bottle of wine.  Sally shut the door behind her, then sprawled out on the bed.  “Okay, Laura, how did you score the hottest guy in the room?”

Laura blinked in astonishment.  “I … didn’t know I’d scored yet.”  

Miss Tate sat next to Sally.  “My name is Kelly.  There are never any hot guys at these things.  Now there are three, and two of them are after you.”  

Laura began to laugh in relief from the restrictions of the last two days.  “Would somebody get me out of this getup?  I’ll tell you what I know.”  

Sally did the honors while Kelly poured the wine and passed around glasses.  She offered some advice.  “Laura, you really don’t have to wear that wooden busk all the time.  They’re uncomfortable at best.  Loosen your stays a little bit during the day and leave it out.  Save it for the dresses that really call for it.”  

Kelly added, “Regency dress doesn’t have to be all that uncomfortable.  You can even leave off some of the layers of petticoats if they seem too cumbersome.  I usually wear a dress, pantaloons and a short chemise with stays.  It’s enough for daytime.  If you want to be really fast, in the evenings, you can wear a dress and nothing else.”

Laura’s mouth dropped.  “Really?”

“Oh, it wasn’t the thing in the country, but in London?  All sorts of scandalous outfits were worn.”

Sally settled back on the bed.  “Okay, out with it.  How are you a marchioness when you haven’t attended a Regency weekend before?”

Laura picked up the glass of wine and sipped.  “It’s a favor to my boyfriend.  He loves this stuff.”  

“Which one’s your boyfriend?” Kelly asked.

Laura only smiled.  “Now, that would be telling.  But feel free to figure it out.  How about the pair of you?  Are you friends?”

Kelly nodded.  “We’re actresses.  Sally got a small role in a Jane Austen adaptation last year and came here to practice.  This year, she made me come with her.  I’ve been to others, but Lord Brighton holds the staff and guests to really high standards—so we should learn a lot.”  

“What sort of standards?” asked Laura.

“Oh, you know, all the unmarried girls have to guard their virtue and assume all the men are rakes,” Sally answered.  “Any … questionable behavior might result in a betrothal or a wedding.”  She giggled at Laura’s horrified expression.  “Oh, it’s not real—but it keeps us on our toes.”

“I should say.”  Laura made a mental note to recount this conversation to Mr. Steele at the earliest possible moment.

“So tall, dark and handsome with a really great British accent?  Or the sloe-eyed Italian Stallion?  Or maybe the redhead with the wicked sense of humor?”  Kelly poured the wine and passed around glasses.  “If Sally wants the comedian, let me know which one is your leftover, and I’ll happily devour him.”  

Laura drank and wondered exactly how fast she could get the girls out of her room.  


*****

  
Remington, Lockwood, and Royce played billiards after the ladies disappeared.  Knowing that Laura was already in the bedroom gave Remington exactly zero reasons to prolong the game.  He flubbed the first shot on purpose just to give each of the men a chance to play, then cleared the table on his second turn on principle.

“That’s it then, mates.  I’ll be seeing you on the morrow,” he said congenially over Lockwood’s protests.  

Anthony followed him out of the room.  “Lord Remington, I’d like to have a word with you.”

He arched a brow and waited.  

“Lady Holt is of some interest to me.  I’d prefer you give me room.”  

But Remington wasn’t granting any.  “Lady Holt is a woman of her own mind.  She’ll make room where she will.”  I assure you, I’m an expert on the subject.

“Will she?  I wonder.”  

On that enigmatic declaration, Royce left.  Remington stared after him, then rapidly scaled the stairway with his customary grace.  The man would bear watching.  

His valet must have been waiting for his appearance, for the man knocked just moments after Remington closed the door to his room to assist him with undressing.  He vanished as quickly as he’d come.

In full anticipation of resuming the delectable antics of the afternoon, Remington raised a hand to knock on Laura’s door—then stopped when he heard unfamiliar female laughter on the other side, joined by Laura’s.  Since when does Miss Holt host girl parties in her room?  Sulking, he yanked the covers back on his bed and pillowed his head on his hands while he waited.  Something always interrupted.  

  



	4. Tuesday

Laura rolled over.  A quiet, insistent knock on her door had her stumbling out of bed.  “Who is it?”

“Mildred,” came the soft reply.

In weary resignation, Laura let her in.  Mildred held a small candle, chattering up a storm.  

“Hold on.  I’m not awake yet,” she begged.

“Sure thing, Miss Holt.”  Mildred set the candle on the dressing table.

“Why are you up so early?”

“Making bread.  Gotta start early.”

“I didn’t know you could make bread.”

“Just one of my many hidden talents.”

“You sound like Mr. Steele.”  With a huge yawn, Laura ran her fingers through her hair. “Oh Lord,” she mumbled.  She realized that due to the glass of wine at dinner, the scant catnap of the previous night, and the glass of wine with the girls, she’d fallen sound asleep—probably in the middle of the conversation—and left Remington hanging.

“What?” Mildred asked sympathetically.

She fumbled for an excuse.  “Oh, it’s early.  I was up late … getting to know a couple of the guests.”

“I heard.”  Mildred chuckled as she settled on the spindly chair in the corner.

“You did?”

“Sure.  The maids told the night cook, and she passed it along.  Seems that not everyone stayed the night in their own rooms.”

“Really?”  That made Laura’s eyebrows go up.

“Let’s see: His Grace and Her Grace were seen walking in the garden last night.  Miss Tate and Lady Esterberg were with you.  Lord Remington and Sir Lockwood shared scotch in the parlor until well after you ladies finished polishing off the bottle of wine Lady Esterberg lifted from the cellar.  Lord Gray was keeping company with Lady Gray.  Not so much with the Marquess and his wife.  And no one knows where Lord Royce was, but he didn’t stay in his room.”

Her jaw dropped.  “Good Lord, Mildred.”

“If you think that’s bad, you should have heard all the dirt on the servants.  This place is a veritable hotbed of hormones.”  

“Did you discover anything that might pertain to the case?”

“Uh huh.”  A satisfied smirk appeared.  “Housekeeper takes inventory twice a week.  And either everyone is keeping quiet, or the thefts haven’t been mentioned.”

“Now that’s odd.  How do you keep something like that quiet?” Laura wondered.

“Got me.  Someone should have been investigating, asking questions.  Which would have these magpies chattering.”  

Laura tapped her cheek.  “Which makes me wonder again if the thefts have really occurred.  Do you know where the inventory records are kept?”

“Sure thing.  Housekeeper has an office just off the kitchen.  What’s Daniel up to this time, Miss Holt?”

“I don’t know.  If there isn’t a theft, maybe Daniel wanted Mr. Steele here for another reason.”  

Mildred winced.  “Something shady.”  

“I hope not.  We’ve got enough to worry about right now.”

With a knowing look, Mildred nodded.  “The letter.”

“The letter,” Laura agreed.

“What are you going to do?”

Laura sat on the corner of the bed, scrunching her face up as she admitted, “I sealed the letter and gave it to Mr. Steele.  He doesn’t know we’ve read it.”

The dismay in Mildred’s voice came through loud and clear.  “Oh, Miss Holt!  Why are you making such a big deal about it?  You told me about how you got him a birth certificate years ago.  Seems like you could give INS a copy, and that would be the end of it.”

“Someone tipped off INS, Mildred.  It’s the only reason anyone would have for looking into Mr. Steele’s passport at this late date.  If someone can prove the documents are fraudulent, he’ll be deported and I’ll go to jail.”

“So then what?”

Laura looked down at her hands.  “There’s always marriage.  Marriage to an American automatically confers citizenship.  It doesn’t matter what the other documents say at that point.”  

“Would you marry him?”

She ran her hand through her hair in frustration.  “I don’t know.”  

“Would you want him to marry someone else?” Mildred said rather acerbically.

“No,” Laura snapped.  “Oh, Mildred.  We’re finally getting somewhere with our relationship.  But this?  This is … too much.”

“Are you in love with him?”

Laura didn’t answer.  She only held up her hands to ward off the question.  

Mildred leaned in.  “Miss Holt, this might be one of those moments where you have to take a leap of faith.”  

She closed her eyes.  “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.  

“Think about it.  You’re in danger of letting everything important to you slip through your fingers—and I’m not talking about the agency.  Are you willing to dothat?”  The older woman didn’t wait for an answer.  Instead, she strode to the door with her candle in hand, pausing long enough to give Laura one last hard look before slipping out again.

Laura tried to go back to sleep.  Fat chance.  Somewhere between “marriage” and “what was Danieldoing anyway?” along with lusty fantasies of her gorgeous partner sleeping a mere closed door away, she tossed and turned fitfully.  Should she go to him?  Pick up where they left off yesterday?  

She’d almost summoned enough courage to do just that when another knock at her door killed that notion.  “Yes?”  

“’Tis Meg, Lady Holt.  I’ve come with your riding habit.”

Apparently, Lady Holt was going for a ride.  She dressed with Meg’s help, drinking her morning chocolate that didn’t measure up to the coffee she craved.

Sunrise didn’t seem to mind her periodic yawns as they explored the terrain together.  The property was nestled on a broad plain flanked by hills on either side.  Laura found a cool stream and interrupted a flock of birds roosting in the trees.  Their mad squawks brightened her mood.  She took Sunrise on a fast gallop across a long meadow, ending it only when a line of trees blocked their path.  

The sun was well over the horizon by the time Laura turned the mare in the manor’s direction.  They made good time back to the stable, where a groom met them at the doors to give her a hand down.  He stripped Sunrise of her tack and began rubbing her down from her long ride.  

“She deserves a treat,” Laura complimented as she rubbed Sunrise’s nose.  The mare whickered, nudging her hand.  “I’m sorry, darling.  I’ll bring you something tomorrow.”  

“How was your ride, Lady Holt?”  Anthony leaned against the doorway of the stable.  

“Quite pleasant.  Good morning, Lord Royce.”  

He reached a long, stocky arm out to stroke the mare’s neck closed in, inconveniently trapping her between him and Sunrise.  “She’s a beauty.  You must have arisen early today.”

“I did.”  She jerked when she felt something tug a strand of her hair.  Anthony held out a leaf.  

“Nature must have wanted to come home with you.  I think I’m jealous.”  She could feel his breath on the back of her neck.  A frission of discomfort flared in her.  Without warning, Sunrise jerked her head up, and Laura ducked under the mare’s neck to put the horse between her and Lord Royce.  

“Clever move, Lady Holt.”

“Good instincts, perhaps.  I think I’ll go change for breakfast.”  

Anthony blocked her path.  “Perhaps you’ll join me this time.”  His voice husky voice made his interest clear.

Another voice, amiable and layered in a rich accent that Laura adored, came from the doorway.  “Perhaps she’ll choose her own dining partner.”  Impeccably elegant, Remington stopped a yard away from her and bowed.  “Lady Holt.”  He turned his head.  “Lord Royce.”  

She sidestepped Anthony and curtsied.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lord Royce’s frustration at the interruption.  “Lord Remington.”

“It seems you prefer the mornings as well, Antony.  Lady Holt certainly appreciates them.”   

“So I’ve discovered,” Lord Royce retorted, his veneer of sophistication slipping.  

Remington jerked his chin to the groom, who had been waiting patiently throughout the exchange.  While the man led Sunrise away, he held out a hand to Laura.  “Shall I walk with you to the house?”

“Ah, of course.”  Laura hesitated, not knowing what manners were called for here.  Should she invite Lord Royce?  Ignore him?  Assume he would come along?  In the end, she settled for a nod of the head.  “Good day, Lord Royce.”

Remington and Laura walked away side-by-side.  Dismissing the other man entirely, she gave her partner a quick sideways glance.  “I’m sorry for last night.  I hadn’t planned on having company.”  

“I gathered that.  It was rather interesting to hear Miss Tate’s view on the various anatomies of the male half of the guest party.”  

“You heard her?”

“Our door isn’t very thick, Lady Holt.  But I didn’t listen much in any case.  You girls were having a good time.  I had a scotch with Lockhart.  He’s a good chap.  Rather enamored of Lady Esterberg.”

“I think he’ll be happy to discover that Lady Esterberg isn’t likely to ward off his affections.”  

“Is that so?  And what about Lady Holt?  She seems to have a pair of suitors on her hands.”  Remington’s tone bore a hint of jealousy. 

She stopped, facing him.  “I do seem to have a problem.  But there is only one suitor for whom I have affections.”  Laura liked her own turn of phrase, and her lips curved up when the uncertainty cleared from his face.  

Remington abruptly escorted her to the maze around the corner of the house.  After two lefts and a right, he found a hidden alcove with a statue and a stone bench in the corner.  The tall hedges gave them complete privacy.  “Bloody hell, Laura.  One taste of you isn’t enough.”

He slid a hand to the small of her back and pressed so that she connected with him from breast to knee.  And then she was lost in his kiss.  His hands burned through the fabric of her bodice as he held her still to ravage her mouth.  She ached for him to cup her breast as he had the day before, to feel his mouth recreate all the dizzying sensations.  

Tugged her pelisse over her shoulders, he uttered a mild oath as he ran a hand along the throat of her riding habit.  “Laura, next time wear a dress that gives me a bloody chance.  I’ve seen nuns with fewer layers and lower necklines.”

“Improvise, damn it,” she breathed.  

He rewarded her order with a brilliant grin.  “That I can do.”  He found the peaks of her breasts through the fabric and circled them with his thumbs.  He used the material to create friction, and she had to stuff a hand in her mouth to stifle her own gasps as every nerve ending sizzled.  

Remington pulled her hand away, replacing it with his own.  He ran a thumb over her bottom lip; she bit it lightly as he plucked a nipple--then trembled at the sensation.

Abruptly, he stopped, pressing her head to his shoulder.  “Bugger me.  I’m not tripping the light fantastic with you in the maze.  Not yet, anyway.”  

The front of his breeches bulged.  He had to be in some discomfort, but the “not yet” made her laugh.  “You want a better setting?” she asked.

“I want you without five layers of clothing, Miss Holt.  Give me a chance to make love to you properly.  After that, a quick shag in the hedges is perfectly acceptable.”

Laura leaned back to give him what she hoped was a seductive smile.  “I’ll hold you to that, Mr. Steele.”

His amusement was evident as he helped her to straighten her clothing.  “Like the idea?”

“More than you know.”  

“Perhaps I should reconsider the moment.”  

But Laura slipped from his hands and began walking backward through the maze.  “I think you’re right.  I want my hands on you as well.”  Then she pivoted and fled, pausing long enough to make certain he understood her invitiation.  


*****

 

  
Daniel paused as someone opened the door to the gardens.  Framed by the sunlight, Laura turned her head to look over her shoulder.  Then, with a brilliant smile, she gave him a nod and slipped past without a word.  

He watched her for a moment before resuming his course to locate his prodigy.  Harry was swiftly scaling the stairs, apparently in pursuit of Miss Holt.  

Ah, perfect time to discuss their pairing.   “Lord Remington, my boy.  Come; walk with me.”  He waved in the direction of the gardens.  

“Now, Daniel?”  Harry gave him a pained look.  Daniel could hear the whine reminding him of a certain fourteen-year-old boy.

“Yes, now I think.”  That tone, too, bore a similarity to one he used nearly twenty years ago.  A flash of desperation on Harry’s face made him wonder what he’d interrupted.  But he could guess when the younger man discretely adjusted the button on his breeches.  He placed a hand on his boy’s back, turning him so they walked away from the house.   “Harry, you must be careful this week.”

“How so?”

Daniel was proud of the way Harry covered his annoyance with a careful layer of manners—and responded in kind.  “However much you might believe these parties to be parodies of the real thing, the participants take them very seriously.  This little game you and Miss Holt play is not acceptable by Regency society standards.  Your ‘interest’ in one another has been noted and remarked upon.  You would do well to avoid her for the remainder of the week.”  

The manners slipped.  “Bloody hell, Daniel!  It’s the most fun Laura’s had in months.  I’m not going to spoil it for her.”  

“Keep this up and by Thursday her reputation will be ruined.  She’ll be shunned by everyone here.  The only saving grace would be for you to marry her.”  

Harry choked.  “Ruining her reputation?  Marriage?  This isn’t Regency England, Daniel.  We’re merely playacting.”

“Don’t be stupid, Harry.  The participants and servants love nothing more than to gossip.  Don’t underestimate their ability to wreck your week and drive you to the altar.”

“It’s still a game, Daniel.”  He shook his head in disbelief.

“Yes, and the wedding might be as well, but do you want Laura thinking about orange blossoms?  I’m certain the ladies will begin pressing her to make a match with you by tomorrow.  It’s part of the role-playing here.  Is that what you want?  Even if nothing comes of it, she’ll be prone to look at you in an entirely different light.”

The odd look on Harry’s face unsettled him.  Daniel had expected to see automatic revulsion at the thought of marriage.  Instead, the younger man looked … almost sad.  

“Marriage,” Harry said thoughtfully, “has been on my mind as of late.  I rather like the idea of Laura thinking about orange blossoms.”

Daniel was flummoxed.  He hadn’t seen this coming at all.  “You’ve asked her to marry you?”

“Not yet.  And now … I have a rather large problem, and I don’t know what to do,” Harry admitted.

“Do tell.”  

Harry crossed his arms, automatically scanning the area for anyone in range to listen in on the conversation.  “Ah, INS caught wind of my latest passport, courtesy of an old chap with a nasty disposition towards me.”

“And—”

“And they are threatening to deport me unless I can prove I’m an American citizen or married to one.”  

“Surely you have an American birth certificate lying around somewhere; they aren’t that hard to obtain.”

“Of course I do, Daniel.  But that won’t be enough this time, I think.”  

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve a bloody prick breathing down my neck telling the INS the documents are forged.  Miss Holt obtained them for me.  I’m not about to put her at risk.”

Daniel’s jaw dropped open.  “Laura forged documents for you?”  

Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets.  “Twice now.  When I first arrived, she made sure I had a driver’s license and a social security card.  Then, when I was in London last year, she came up with a passport in my name on twenty-four-hour notice.”  

“Clever girl,” Daniel remarked while his mind spun in confusion.“I’d always thought her too prim for something along those lines.”

Harry gave him a wry smile.  “Yes, she does seem that way.”

“So what’s your problem, Harry?  Marry her.  Get clear of INS; then divorce her if you like.”  

“I won’t do that, Daniel.”

“Why not?  She’s been using you for years to front that agency for her.  The least she could do is cover for you now.”

Harry frowned at him.  “It’s not like that.”  

“Oh?  Who is conning whom, Harry?  My boy, she’s kept you dangling for years now.  Exactly when are you going to wake up to her machinations?  Or are you going to be her pretty puppet for the rest of your days?”

For a moment, Harry’s face went black with rage.  But unlike the wild days of his youth when he would have shot out a fist, he stilled—his expression changing to one of idle curiosity.  It was that sort of ability that had honed a wild street kid into the elegant young man before him.  

Daniel coughed to clear his throat.  Damn lungs.  

Harry forcibly relaxed at the sound.  “I don’t expect you to understand what Laura and I have together.  Bloody hell, I don’t understand what we have half the time.  But it—whatever it is—is real.  If she’s using me, it isn't anything I haven’t allowed.”  Harry’s face brightened with a rare light.  “Do something for me, my  old friend.  Assume—just for a moment—that Laura cares for me.  A great deal.  Then think about everything she has done from the day I stepped into her life.”  Harry adjusted his cravat.  “Excuse me, I’ve promised Lady Holt my company, Your Grace.”  He gave Daniel a proper bow and strode toward the house.  

As he watched his protégé ascend the stairs, Daniel wished desperately for a drink.  A whole host of assumptions had to be reconsidered—and in short order—before the game played out entirely in the wrong manner.   


*****

  
Remington found Laura exactly where he’d hoped—in his room and in his bed.  With the quiet grace of a cat, he eased down to sit next to her and stroke her hair.  He laid a kiss on her brow, taking care not to wake her.  

It’s always something, isn’t it, Miss Holt?   He stayed that way, letting one of her curls spiral around his finger again as he played with it.  Daniel was right about one thing, though.  Laura didn’t need to be thinking about weddings right now.  

With a deeply regretful sigh, Remington gathered her into his arms, crossed to the next room and laid her in her own bed—all the while wishing desperately for more time.  

  
*****

  
Laura woke when Lady Esterberg knocked on her door with Meg in tow.  

“Lady Holt, wake up.  You missed breakfast.”

She rolled over, confused at finding herself in her own room.  “Did I?”

“Yes.  Meg said you went riding early this morning.  Lord Remington expressed his concern when you didn’t appear.”  Sally took a seat on the chair while Meg laid a tray of meat, cheese and fruit on the corner of the bed.

Laura groaned as she sat up, knowing she’d done it to Remington again.  She reached for a cube of cheese.  “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s a good thing you took a nap.  Our dance instructor will be here in a while.  We’ll be practicing this afternoon for the ball on Friday night.  Can you dance?”

“I’ve had a few lessons.”

“Oh good.  This will be easy.  Tonight we’ll have informal dancing after dinner.  Do you mind playing the piano so we can practice?  I can plink out a few notes too.  On Friday, we’ll have a real orchestra.”

“Ah, that would be fine,” Laura replied politely.  She wondered when she would be able to slip free to investigate the housekeeper’s records—perhaps tonight after everyone went to bed.  Not for the first time, she understood why her partner had developed such night owl tendencies.  

Laura didn’t see Remington again for the whole afternoon, although Anthony made a point of hovering in the ballroom while the instructor took the guests through their paces.  When it came time for the waltz, she tried to sit out, citing her expertise.  

But Lord Royce replied, “Good.  Then you won’t step on my toes.  Let’s dance, Lady Holt.”  He held her in the correct stance as they waited for the music.  “Relax.  I promise I won’t bite.”  She flicked a dark look at him, but he only chuckled as the waltz began.  “You don’t like me.  Why?”  

“Lord Royce, I don’t know you well enough not to like you.”

“That’s a pretty answer.  But not an honest one.”  

Against her will, Laura looked away in amusement.  

“Ah, there’s an honest smile anyway,” he said.   

His brusque attempts to charm her finally got through.  With a friendly look, she settled into the dance and let Anthony steer her about the ballroom.  When the music ended, he spun her around once and led her into a quick dip that had the rest of the girls clapping in appreciation.

Laura came up laughing a little breathlessly.  She curtsied to Anthony, who bowed with a saucy wink.  When he did, Laura caught sight of Remington standing in the doorway.  The fury in his blue eyes sent a chill across the room.  

“Lord Royce, ladies, I must take my leave.  I’ll see you at dinner.”  She darted out of the room, oblivious to the whispers behind her.  Hastily, she followed him down the long hallway and up the stairs, in time to see Remington shut the door to his room.  She knocked, only to be ignored.  Rapping once more with the same result, she turned the knob and slipped inside anyway.  

“Did you forget your manners, Lady Holt?”  The icy tone as he yanked off his neckcloth made her own temper flare.  

“I believe I’ve missed something significant, Lord Remington.  This morning, we were planning a long-awaited tryst.  This afternoon, you’re sending me daggered glares.  Care to fill me in?”

“You’ve missed something significant?” he barked.  “The last thing I expected was to find you in another man’s arms.  You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”  

“I was.”

“Then go to it.”  

Furious and at a complete loss to explain his temper, Laura wanted to pick up the inkwell on the desk and brain him with it.  But not wanting a repeat of the scene at the Friedlich Spa, she swallowed her irritation.  “What have I done to make you so angry with me?” she asked softly.  

“Why am I still here, Laura?  Do you still need me to front the agency for you?  Is that all I’m doing?  Is that all I’ve ever done?  Is that why you’ve strung me along all these years—to keep my interest so that I’ll protect your damned business?” he asked bitterly.

The weight of his queries made her knees buckle.  She leaned against the desk for support.  She’d asked herself variations on the same any number of times in the past, but had long ago accepted that he made an excellent partner—just as she’d accepted that they were moving well along the path to becoming a real couple.  That he would question her now—  She straightened in shock, stunned he hadn’t drawn the same conclusions.  

“No—to all your questions except the first.  I can’t answer that one.”  She clasped her hands together.  “I can run the agency without you.  It wouldn’t be easy, and I’d lose a number of good clients.  I certainly wouldn’t enjoy it as much.  But it can be done if you want out.”  The thought twisted her stomach.  Nausea rose in her throat, and she tamped it down by sheer force of will.  

His anger seemed to lessen, but not entirely.  He held up a hand.  “If you don’t mind, Miss Holt, I need a bit of time alone.”  

Without a word, she walked to their connecting door and closed it in silence.  

An hour later, she waved off Meg, citing a headache in favor of missing dinner.  She yanked her own black clothing out of her trunk, slipping out of the house to find Sunrise.  The mare whinnied and came to her in the paddock.  Laura glanced around, opened the gate, and pulled herself onto Sunrise’s bare back.  A click and a nudge with her booted foot gave the mare all the incentive she needed to rocket off into the evening sun.  

Freed of the restrictions of the manor and the role-playing, Laura’s cheeks were soaked by the time darkness flooded the estate.   

He’d blindsided her.  She could deal with his jealousy over Anthony.  Despite Remington’s overt confidence, he had a streak of self-doubt when it came to their relationship—not that she faulted him for it.  She frequently suffered the same.  

But the other—to accuse her of merely keeping him around for the business—she bit her lip.  If he doubted her that much this far into their relationship, then perhaps he was right, and their partnership was merely a glamorous sham.  But if it was, why did her heart hurt so damned much in the face of his charges?  

A startled groom jumped to his feet when Laura returned.  Without a word, she took the curry comb from the shelf and began smoothing away the dirt and sweat from the long ride.  The groom checked Sunrise’s hooves, picking out dirt here and there. When they were done and Sunrise had her nose buried in grain, Laura thanked him.

“’Tis my pleasure, Lady Holt.  If only all riders were like you.”  He tipped his cap in her direction and returned to his nook at the rear of the stable.  

Laura stared at the manor house, frowning at somebody’s attempts to play a waltz on the piano.  Then she listened harder, creeping closer until she sat under an open window.  Yes, there was Daniel’s voice—and Remington’s.  She used servant’s stair to reach Daniel’s room.  He was occupied.  This was the perfect time to search for clues.

 

 


	5. Wednesday

Weary beyond all reason, Daniel gladly applauded when the dancing concluded.  He hadn’t missed the emptiness in Harry’s eyes nor Laura’s prolonged absence.  A stray tendril of guilt wound through him; he was certain his conversation with Harry had been the root of both.  

Once in his room, he didn’t bother with a candle.  He stiffened when he realized he wasn’t alone.  A shadowed figure sat at the table near the open window.  Light flared as Laura struck a match.  She set the flame on the trio of candles, making the room dance in the flickering light.  Daniel saw faint tear tracks on her face.

Her voice cracked across the room.  “This setting suits you.  A charade for the ultimate charlatan.”

Countering her sharp words, he injected a note of humor into his.  “One must find amusement where one can."  

“You set him up, didn’t you?”

A fit of coughing overcame him.  He tried to use it as a dodge.  "The night air catches in the throat.  If you'll excuse me, I really must turn in before I get a chill."

“It’s not the country air,” she retorted.  “And it certainly isn’t the damp.”  She stalked to his bureau.  From of the top drawer, she yanked  out a bottle of pills and slammed it on the surface above.  “You have more pills in here than a drugstore.”

Furious she’d discovered his secret, he snapped, “Leave it to Linda to dig until she comes up with all the morbid little details.”  He dropped his neckcloth on the bed and began unbuttoning his tailcoat deliberately to make her uncomfortable.

Instead, Laura took two steps toward him, her hand out in a plea.  Her voice softened.  “I know you and I have had a ... strained relationship at best.”  

“We’ve always been vying for the same object.”

She bit her lip.  “Why don’t we take off the gloves and talk truth for a change.”

“I don’t like the truth.  I’ve spent my whole life dancing around its edges.  You want the truth?”  He stalked to the chest of drawers and dug into the pile of bottles, dropping a half dozen of them on the top.  “Here it is.  I’ll take fantasy any day.”

She winced.  “I’m sorry.”

His voice was hard—and bitter with irony.  “No need.  Harry will finally be yours.  Irrevocably.  Even a consummate artist at deception can’t outfox the Grim Reaper.  Does that satisfy your thirst for truth?”  

He had to give her credit.  She had to be overwhelmed by his declaration, yet she stayed composed—neither begging for forgiveness nor offering pithy sympathies.  Instead, she held out her hand and opened a heart-breakingly familiar gold watch.  

“I found something else.”  

The tinkling song sent him straight back to Ireland and a pair of blue eyes that haunted his dreams.

“Pretty tune,” he quipped.

“What are you doing with it?” Laura probed.

“Meaningless bauble.” Damn you, Linda.  Can’t you leave this one alone?

“It belonged to the Earl of Claridge.  He meant it to go to his son.”  

“But it was stolen before his son could receive it.”  

“Then it came to Mr. Steele with a note which said, ‘Your father always wanted you to have this.  Signed, Patrick O’Rourke.’”  

Daniel gave up.  She wouldn’t leave him alone until she had the whole story. In for a penny, in for a pound.   “The thief gave it to O’Rourke.”

“To give to the thief’s son?”  Laura’s eyes narrowed.  

“A father wants to leave some legacy to his children—no matter how small.”

She pressed her lips together in irritation.  “You still haven’t told me what this is doing among your belongings.”

He laughed.  He had to give her credit for her tenacity.  “I’m afraid I stole it—again.”

Enlightenment dawned and her eyes widened in surprise.  “You’re the thief?”

“You’ve uncovered quite a Pandora’s box, Laura.  As difficult as it may be to believe, the man you call ‘Remington Steele’ is my son.”  

For a moment, all she could do was stare at him, the open pocket watch resting in her palm.  


*****  


Laura’s brain stumbled.  She closed the watch and set it in Daniel’s hand without a word.  

His eyes never left hers as he slipped it into his pocket.  “The last time I visited the Earl, he told me his most painful regret was that he never got to see his son again.  Having just found out my own odds were getting a bit long, I told him the truth.  After all, he once thought Harry was his son.  It’s the first time in over thirty years I’d told anyone I was his real father.”

The words were smooth; the story rang true.  Yet, Laura had no reason to trust Daniel.  “How am I supposed to believe any of this?  The first time I met you, you had more passports with more aliases than Mr. Steele did.  How do I know this isn’t just another in a long line of your scams?”

Daniel looked her straight in the eye.  “You don’t.”

She began pacing in front of the table, thinking about all the ramifications for Remington.  “If it is true, if you are his father, you’ve got to tell him.  He deserves to know.”

Daniel refuted her.  “He’s done quite well without knowing.  And he’s learned to cope with whatever anger he feels toward his father.”  

“But that anger is based on a father he never knew,” she countered.  “Give him a father, and you could eliminate that anger.”

“Or bring it to a boil.”

All right, I’ll give him that one.  Still—  “You can’t not tell him.”

Daniel stopped her, mid-pace, and took her hand.  His was much colder than it should have been.  “My dear Laura, you’re a lovely young lady, and Harry is extremely lucky to have you, but this is between him and me.”  The look on his face was firm as he kissed the back of her hand.

For how long, Daniel?  Until you’re gone and I have to pick up the pieces?  “Of course,” she said instead.  She walked to the door, and after giving him one last searching look, slipped down the empty hallway to her room.  

Remington must have heard her come in; their connecting door swung open just seconds later.  “Nice of you to rejoin the party.”  He leaned on the door frame wearing a pair of dark blue sweatpants and a loose gray t-shirt.  

Still dazed by Daniel’s revelations and irritated with his son for the way he’d treated her earlier, she deliberately unbuttoned her black shirt.  “We have a case to solve, remember?”  

“Is that what you were doing?  Skulking about in the darkness?” he joked.  

Mentally smacking herself on the forehead, she remembered she was supposed to look over the housekeeper’s inventory.  But at least she had the satisfaction of watching the color rise in his face as she dropped the shirt on top of her trunk, leaving her in slacks and a black bra.  “Among other things.”  She began unfastening the pants.  

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Care to tell me what this afternoon was all about?”  The slacks joined the shirt, leaving her in a skimpy pair of panties and bra.  She noticed Remington’s breathing becoming a touch labored and smirked inwardly.  Pretending she didn’t have a regard for him being there, she headed for the miniscule bathroom.  She left the door halfway open as she cranked on the hot water in the shower.  She stripped off her underwear, knowing damned well he would catch a quick peek as she stepped behind the curtain to wash.  She hoped he suffered.  It was a small payback for the hell he’d put her through today.  

“I was jealous.”  

She pretended not to hear him and poked her wet head out, making sure a bare shoulder could be seen.  “What was that?”

He pushed open the bathroom door, his eyes going straight to her naked arm. .  “I was jealous.”  

“Of what?”  She gave him a dirty look before ducking under the spray.  

“Of Anthony.  Of you.  Of you dancing with Anthony and looking as if you were having a good time.”

“I was having a good time.  He’s not a bad dancer.”  She rinsed out her hair, intent on getting clean in short order.  

“He’s sniffing at your heels, Laura.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So I want you to tell him to bugger off,” Remington growled.  

“I can’t do that.”  She shut off the water and peeked around the curtain again.  “Will you hand me a towel?”

He yanked one off the shelf above the mirror and handed it to her.  “Why not?”

“Thanks.”  She pulled her head back in and dried off.  “Why not what?”  

“Why can’t you tell him to bugger off?”

After making sure her towel was secure, she jerked the curtain aside.  “Because, according to the rules of this lovely week, we’re not supposed to be attached, remember?”  She said, mimicking his tutelage from the previous week.  “One doesn’t want to be considered fast or show her affections too early.  It’s not seemly.”  She leveled a hard look at him as she stepped out.  “Are you changing the rules of the game?”

“This is different.”  

“How?”  She brushed past him to retrieve a nightshirt from her wardrobe.  As she half-expected, he caught her in the doorway.  

“It just is.”  He started to kiss her, but she slipped out of his grasp.  

She pulled on the shirt and tugged the towel out from underneath.  “It doesn’t work this way, Remington.”  She returned to the bathroom to hang the towel on a hook, then found her comb and pulled it through her hair.

“What doesn’t work this way?”  He rested his forearm on the doorway and watched her reflection.  

“I thought we had … an understanding … of where our relationship is going.”  She dropped the comb on the counter.  “What changed?”

“I told you I’m sorry; I was jealous.”  

“That doesn’t even begin to explain the things you said to me today.”  She turned out the bathroom light, then pushed past him and crawled into her own bed—leaving him in the darkness.  “Feel free to wake me when you’re willing to be honest.”  

After a minute or so of silence, the door closed with a soft click.  She rose again, curling up in a chair by the window to stare into the night.  

She hadn’t been exactly fair.  Still reeling from the confrontation with Daniel, she’d antagonized Remington rather than giving him the chance to make amends with her.   Another missed opportunity was certainly her punishment—as was the sure knowledge that Remington was as miserable as she at the moment.

When the moon came out sometime later, she gave up analyzing motives and emotions, trading them for cold logic and hard facts.  In absolute silence, she dressed again in black.  With a tiny penlight palmed in her hand and a set of lockpicks in her pocket, she blended with the walls as she made her way into the housekeeper’s tiny office.  

The inventory records were neatly labeled, and Laura had no trouble locating the various “stolen” items in the journal.  As she suspected, each of the items was still listed.  She thumbed backward through the records.  

A note from two years earlier caught her attention: “Silver filigreed handbrush, item #GG143, missing from Duchess suite.  Reported to Lord Brighton 5 April 84.”

Carefully, Laura turned the pages forward again until she reached the point in time the mysterious “thefts” had begun.  Not a single item had been remarked upon.  Either the housekeeper wasn’t actually taking inventory, or she knew exactly where they were.

As Laura made her way back to her room, she wondered how she would approach the housekeeper in her guise as a guest.  Undressing again, she sat in the chair, lost in thought, until the dawn began to streak the sky.   


*****  


 

Mildred knocked again, but this time Laura was awake and dressed to ride.  

“I brought you some coffee.”  Her broad face was full of smiles.  

“Oh, bless you, Mildred.”  Laura sipped in bliss.  “Chocolate is wonderful, but it doesn’t have the same kick.”

Mildred sat on the edge of the bed.  “So, what’s going on with you and the boss?”

Laura pretended to be nonchalant.  “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come now, Miss Holt.  I told you; the servants know everything.”

“Such as?”

“Well—”  Mildred counted them out on her fingers.  “I know you and the boss had a fight last night.  That came from a valet who helped Daniel last evening and heard it from the hallway.  Daniel himself was in a grouchy mood after the dancing, which is unusual for him.  Since he and Mr. Steele were both in pretty good humor last evening according to the footmen, it wasn’t because of Mr. Steele.  Now the groom mentioned you went for a late night ride and returned about a half hour before the party broke up.  I’d guess, knowing what I do about you, that you and Daniel went toe to toe, and somewhere in there, you had a row with the boss.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mildred, how does anyone get anything done around here?”

“Miss Holt, we don’t have television or radio, so the only soap operas we get have the guests in the starring roles!”  

Laura shook her head in disbelief.  “All right.  If you know all that, then what were Mr. Steele and I discussing?”

“Oh, that’s easy.  Everyone can tell he’s jealous of the attention Lord Royce is paying to you.  The butler said they were glaring at each other for most of the party.”

In supplication, Laura held her hands up.  “I give up.  Help me pack my bags, Mildred; I’m going home.”

“Oh, but you can’t.  This is too much fun!”

“Then stay the week.  There is no case.  The housekeeper’s inventory shows all the items are still here—somewhere.  I think Daniel wanted ‘Harry’ here all along.  Me?  He’d rather drop me off the nearest cliff.  I think he’s afraid I actually give a damn about his—” She caught herself.  “Prodigy.”

“Why would that bother him?” Mildred asked.

Laura started to make a sharp retort, but a new thought stopped her.  Remington had said once that he’d been told his mother had died having him.  If Remington was Daniel’s son, then that woman had been with Daniel.  Had Daniel been deeply in love once?  And lost her?  

She mused over the new piece to the puzzle.  “I don’t know, Mildred.  Maybe it’s time I found out.”

“That a girl!”  Mildred grinned.  As she rose to depart,Mildred took a deep breath.  “Miss Holt, may I offer some advice?”

“Certainly.”

“For the Regency era, you’re beginning to develop quite a reputation.  If Lord Remington doesn’t offer for you soon, you’ll be ostracized from society.”  

“Offer for me?  Ostracized?  Why?”

“Well, the attraction you two have is apparent, and obviously, he was in your room last night.”  She shrugged.  “The others expect some sort of betrothal announcement in the next day or two.  Otherwise, you’ll be considered ‘damaged goods,’ so to speak.”   

Laura’s mouth dropped open.  “Good Lord, you sound like my mother!”

“She’d probably fit in quite well.  But I’m serious, Miss Holt.  Her Grace had quite a bit to say on the subject to Lady Ratcliff and Lady Esterberg last night.”

“Mildred!  This is a charade!” she protested.

“A very serious one.  Friday night betrothals and Saturday morning weddings are quite common around here.  It’s not just about you, Miss Holt.  Brighton Manor has a reputation to uphold as well.  I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Lindermann himself encourages you and Mr. Steele to go along with the pretense.  His business is built on being true to the standards of the era.  If word gets out that a number of guests were allowed to operate outside Regency society morals, his business would suffer.”  

“And there’s no chance of keeping a secret like that.”

“Exactly.”  

Laura nodded.  “All right.  I’ll behave myself.  It’s only three and a half days.”  She flicked a glance at Mildred.  “Is anyone having this conversation with Lord Remington?”

“I believe Lord Ratcliff is taking it upon himself to discuss it with him.  Lady Ratcliff is sure to have a word with you as well.”  

She groaned.  “I’ll look forward to that.”  

Neither one of them voiced the obvious—that a real wedding could take care of a very real problem.   


*****

  
When Laura appeared at breakfast, Remington noted the faint smudges beneath her eyes.  Good.  He wasn’t the only one suffering after their fight.  She acknowledged him in the same manner as the others—no animosity and a friendly smile—then took a seat between Lady Gray and Lady Esterberg at the other end of the table.  

He regretted most of yesterday.  She was right.  Jealous or not, he had no reason to be angry with her.  She hadn’t encouraged Anthony.  And he hadn’t precisely warned Anthony off.  That, of course, would change—and wasn’t the root of the problem.  He’d let Daniel’s accusations worm into his psyche.  He’d seen the utter shock in Laura’s eyes and knew it wasn’t feigned.  

An apology was in order.  That was clear enough.  He’d become rather good at them as he’d stumbled time and again the first year he’d stepped into Remington Steele’s shoes.  They’d become easier because Laura always forgave him for his missteps.  She never let him get away with insincerity, yet was quick to absolve him of his latest transgression.  

He hoped this time wouldn’t be any different.  

But first, the men had to pretend to hunt small furry creatures while the ladies had last minute fittings on their gowns for Friday night.  

  


Targets had been set up all over a particular wooded area.  The six men carried long guns.  Royce and Lockwood led the crew, taking turns hitting the various marks.  By mutual, unspoken agreement, Anthony stayed at the head of the pack for the “hunt” while Remington brought up the rear.  Remington took great pride in knocking down targets the other man missed.   

Daniel and Lord Gray merely carried their rifles, neither of them seemingly interested in the game play.  Lord Ratcliff made a point of staying with Remington.  Why he did so became clear when the others began to outdistance them.  

“Hold a moment.  These old legs require a bit of a rest before we go on.”  Ratcliff stopped and used his rifle as a stick to lean on.  Remington eyed him.  The man seemed robust enough.  Certainly the vigor with which he danced last evening didn’t support the current excuse to rest.  The older man stroked his mustache and coughed to clear his throat.  “Lord Remington, a matter of some importance has come to my attention.  I feel, as your senior in both age and rank, that I must have words with you.”

Remington’s brows flew upward.  He had the uncomfortable sensation of stepping into a trap.  “Pray, sir, I’m desirous of your counsel.”

Ratcliff’s eyes twinkled.  “Don’t be cheeky.  Your affections for Lady Holt have been noted.  We are a conservative house, and she is without a sponsor.  As you were overheard in her room late last evening, I’d suggest you consider making an offer for her.  A betrothed woman has a small amount of freedom not permitted to an eligible miss.  As I hope matters have not progressed—”  He gave Remington a hard look.  “Beyond that which may be overlooked for an affianced couple, I think for the purposes of this week, a betrothal will suffice rather than a wedding. ”  

The proverbial door began to close behind him.  Remington gave a curt nod.  “I believe that information was shared with me yesterday.”

“Then don’t delay, Lord Remington.  The ladies will be in an uproar until matters are settled.  You have until dinner to consider your position.  Should you decline to set matters to rights, His Grace and I will make other arrangements.  I do believe Lord Royce would be agreeable to suit with Lady Holt.”

Remington scratched his nose as the door slammed shut.  “Ah, no.  I think that will not be necessary.”

“Ah, good.  His Grace assured me you would do the right thing.”

He blinked.  And blinked again.  “His Grace?”

“Yes, Sinclair has taken particular interest in the situation.  You may apply to him for permission as he has agreed to act in Lady Holt’s interests.  He had little doubt you would make an admirable match with Lady Holt.”  Lord Ratcliff clapped a hand on his shoulder.  “Don’t delay much, my friend.  We’ll all be miserable with the gossip and nattering about.”  He eyed Remington slyly.  “She’s something of a firebrand, I think.  You’ll have your hands full.”  

“You have no idea,” Remington muttered as he felt the key turn in the lock.

“Let us join the others.  We’ll toast your good fortune this evening after dinner.”  

Remington worked his way through the group until he could pull Daniel aside for a private conversation.  They walked in the woods away from the others.

“What in the bloody hell are you scheming at now?”

“Is something wrong, Harry?”

“Yesterday you were warning me off Laura; now you’re encouraging Ratcliff to force me to ask her to marry.”

“First, my boy, I wasn’t the one who was in Lady Holt’s quarters last night.  The servants chatter, and the gossip was rampant this morning.  I’d warned you precisely about this situation yesterday, and still you didn’t take care to be private.  Second, Lord Ratcliff came to me, and I convinced him a betrothal would do.  So if you have anything to discuss with me, it ought to be a ‘thank you’ for rescuing you from the charade of a wedding.”

“Laura is going to be furious.”

“I’m quite certain Lady Ratcliff will have explained the situation to her this morning.  I expect she’ll be amenable to your proposal.”

“Daniel, I can’t do this.  The timing is all wrong.  Laura and I—”

“Are what?”

“Damn it.  I’m finally past her bloody defenses, and it’s been a bloody hard road to get there.  We’re—”  No, he wouldn’t go there.  It wasn’t Daniel’s business to know they weren’t lovers yet.  “I haven’t told Laura about the letter from INS.  A marriage is the best answer to that problem.  But—”  

“Then marry her, Harry.  Keep yourself from being deported if that’s what you want.  She owes you this one.”  Daniel clapped him on the shoulder and walked away to rejoin Lord Gray.  

Remington closed his eyes to get a grip on his anger.  He had to think fast or he’d lose his ultimate prize.  When he opened them, Anthony was propped against a nearby tree, boring a hole in him with a dark look.  Remington didn’t hold out much hope that the man hadn’t overheard the conversation, especially when Anthony pushed away from the truck with an expression of disgust and stalked off into the forest.  


*****

  
Laura concentrated on the page before her, her fingers walking through the intricate passage.  The fourth time through, she succeeded in conquering the difficult notes and played them with verve.

“Well done, Lady Holt.”  Lord Remington nodded from the doorway.  Lady Esterberg smiled at him, inclining her head.  Sally had been keeping Laura company after a tedious morning of discussing the dance to be held on Friday evening.  

Remington seemed hesitant to talk until, with a sweet curtsy, Lady Esterberg deliberately crossed the room to hold her needlework up to the sunlight, keeping her back to them.  Sally didn’t see the grateful softening of his expression, but Laura did.  She wondered if he’d been cornered the same way Lady Ratcliff and the Duchess had done with her this morning.   

“Lady Holt, if I might have a word with you.”

She nodded.  “Yes, Lord Remington?”  She rose, taking care to keep a respectable three feet or so between them.  Lady Ratcliff had put the fear of God into her if she didn’t behave with propriety for the time being.  For Laura, the feeling had been disconcerting; even her mother hadn’t been able to evoke that particular emotion.

He touched his lips for a moment and stepped toward her.  Very softly, he said, “I must tender my apologies for my words yesterday.  I had no right to question your behavior—nor your motives.”  

An apology wasn’t what she was expecting and made it all the harder to stay in character.  “My lord, you have no cause for concern.”  

“I do, Lady Holt.”  He shot a quick look in Sally’s direction.  “My … affections are … overwhelming at times.”  

She laced her hands togehter, the epitome of a demure miss.  “Indeed.  I am quite familiar with the sensation.”

Remington closed the distance a little more when he caressed her cheek.  “Are you?  I hadn’t thought you to be quite so … altered.”

His touch was electric.  Her skin sizzled where he set his fingers.  She tilted her head in disbelief, leaning into his hand.  “Do you not know the effect of your person on my sensibilities?”

“At times, I think I do.”

“Then let those moments stand in testament of my feelings for you.”  She turned just enough to brush her lips inside his palm.  He jerked, then sealed his hand against her cheek and closed his eyes.  

It was then that Laura fully appreciated the situation they were in.  Restricted by the setting, hampered by the letter, and hemmed in by their feelings, just being together at the moment was a problem.  More than ever, she wanted to pack their bags.  They needed a heart-to-heart talk about Remington’s immigration problem, but she couldn’t leave matters with Daniel as they were.  She sure as hell didn’t want to be the one to have to tell Remington the truth about his father—not to mention that these were likely the last moments they would have together.

“Laura—”  His voice was hoarse as he spoke.  “I’m sorry.”  

In the softest whisper, she said in his ear, “Remington, we’re okay.  I’m not disappearing over a silly spat.”  Lightly, she brushed her lips across his cheek, then challenged, “Remember, this is only a game.  I expect a very pretty proposal this evening so we can sneak off for kisses now and again.”

“Just kisses, Lady Holt?”

She shot him a siren’s smile.  “That depends on you, my lord.”   


*****

  
Remington sat on the edge of Harold’s desk in bemusement.  Laura had done it again.  Somehow, with her pragmatic approach to life, she’d righted his world.  He still didn’t know how to manage the situation with the INS, but she’d bought him time while he figured out Daniel’s latest scheme.

He picked up the phone and dialed.  “Leland?  Steele here.  … Yes, yes, old chap.  … No, I’ve nothing to sell you at the moment.  I do have something to buy, however.”  He broke out in a grin as he listened to Leland’s accusations of aging thieves.  “I’m in a bit of a hurry.  No time to obtain it myself.”  He scratched his nose.  “What can you get in a Regency era betrothal ring?  … No, no paste.  I want the real thing—authentic.  I’ll know if you’re putting me on.  …  Diamonds, of course, with, ah, rubies or emeralds—I’d prefer the latter.  … Excellent.  Now, can you get a courier to Reno by three?  I need it by five, and the drive is long.    … Yes, it’s good doing business with you, mate.”

  
*****

  
Laura actually looked forward to the afternoon.  Archery was apparently a popular pastime in the Regency era, and she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to shoot anything other than a crossbow.  Sally had helped her select a costume that allowed for a respectable amount of movement, so for the first time this week, Laura was comfortable in her clothing.  

Naturally, Lord Royce presented himself to assist her right off the bat.  He’d been practicing—landing arrow after arrow on the target.  

Showing off, aren’t we? Laura mused as she wandered out to the field with Sally.  

Sir Lockwood joined them, presenting his arm to her companion.  She flashed Laura a delighted smile and took it—leaving Laura stuck with Anthony.  Humming under her breath so as not to utter curses, she wondered where in the hell her partner had gone.

“Lady Holt, have you experience at archery?” Lord Royce asked, handing her a bow and arrow.  

“I’ve seen it.”  Taking the bow in her right hand and arrow in her left, she made to aim for the target.  

“No, no, Lady Holt.  You’re holding it the wrong way.”  He turned her around so that her left hand held the bow.  

Damn.  Now you’re going to use this as an excuse to show me the proper way.  Sure enough, he laid his hands over hers to help her aim and shoot.  His nearness made her uncomfortable, but she concealed it as she hastily released the shot.  Her arrow flew high over the target and to the right.  

“That’s all right.  We’ll try again.”  Anthony picked an arrow out of the quiver the servants had set up nearby.

“It won’t help.”  Remington's clipped accent came from behind.  

"I beg your pardon," she retorted.  But her lips curved up.  Her partner had his arms crossed and was glaring at Anthony.  

“Lord Remington, I find your remark rather insolent,” Anthony said darkly.

Remington tugged Laura toward him a step, then took the bow from her hand.  “Turn the other way, Laura,” he murmured in her ear.  She pivoted to put her back to him, and he replaced the bow in her right hand and the arrow in her left.  He raised his voice.  “Lady Holt favors her left hand.  It’s one of her many charming traits.”

Anthony’s mouth pressed into a thin line.  He stepped back but didn’t abandon the field.  Instead, he and Remington held a staring contest over her head.  

Remington didn’t crowd her or try to show her the proper way to shoot an arrow.  In fact, he didn’t lay a hand on her.  Instead, he whispered instructions into her ear. “Don’t use your first finger; it’s too weak.  Use the middle finger.  Aye, that’s it,” he encouraged.  “Now, aim at the target, Laura.  The harder you pull back on the bowstring, the straighter the arrow will fly.  Use your instincts.  Move your aim upward until you can feel the point it will arch over and land on the target.”  She made a small adjustment.  

“Got it?”  

“Yes.”

“Then listen to the wind.  Which way does it blow?”

Closing her eyes, she could feel the breeze on the right side of her face.  A strand of her hair blew in the same direction.  “I feel it from the right, not very hard.”

“Then make the adjustment.”  

She took a deep breath, aimed and bit her lip.  She took a final pull and let the arrow fly.  The point thunked into the outer ring of the target.  

“I hit it!” she said in delight.  Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Remington’s wink and a pleased grin.  

“Aye, that you did, Lady Holt.”  He stepped farther away to let her try again.   As he did, he invited Lord Royce to a friendly competition.   

Laura mentally shook her head.  Now Remington was going to declare ownership.  Sometimes men could be so predictable.    


 

*****

  
“Care to shoot a round, Lord Royce?”   

“I’d be delighted, Lord Remington,” Anthony said with a sneer.  At the other end of the range, he retrieved his bow and landed an arrow in the white ring of the target.

From the quiver Remington selected an arrow, checking its feathers and shaft for nicks.  “Nice shot.  Pretending to be Robin Hood, eh?”  

“Grab a bow,” Anthony snarled.

Remington tapped the arrow against the other man’s chest.  “Enough games, Royce.”  You’ve been bird-dogging Lady Holt since we arrived.”

“Who’s bird-dogging whom?  You’ve been panting after her like a stallion sniffing after a mare.”  

“Ah, I see.”  He pulled the bowstring and let the arrow fly, striking the target just inside Royce’s.  

“Nice shot.”  Anthony readied his own bow.  “Hope you like England.  Once America deports someone, that’s it.”

“That explains your churlish humor.  It’s not like that, Anthony.”  

“Really?  Could have fooled me.”  He let go of his arrow, hitting the center of the target.  

“Laura—”  Remington emphasized her first name.  “Can take care of herself.  I’ve yet to talk her into anything she doesn’t want to do.  And believe me, I’ve tried.” 

“I see.”

“Do you?”  He released the bowstring with a twang.  The arrow split Anthony’s shot down the middle.  “Antony, old chap, I seem to have split your shaft.”  With an arrogant grin he knew would irritate the other man, he kissed the back of his middle finger.  The fact that it was the same one he’d used to pull the string was a mere coincidence.  

He returned to Laura’s side.  She’d landed another arrow on the target but missed several more.  

“Finished?” she asked.  

“We have an understanding.”  

She rolled her eyes at him and took aim once more.  This time it landed on the white ring.  

“Excellent, Lady Holt.  I think you’re a natural.”  

“I think my finger is getting a blister,” she complained.  

“Yes, that is an unfortunate effect.”  

“I think I’m done.”  She dropped the bow on the rack next to the quiver and began walking toward the manor house.  

He fell into step beside her.  The sidelong glances she made warned him she had something to say.

“I’ve misjudged Daniel,” she said softly.  “He is really a very fine man.”

Remington snapped his head around in disbelief.  “Really?”

“Have you … have you had a chance to talk to him today?”

He carefully sidestepped the question.  “Yes, in fact.  Apparently, I’m to apply to him when I get around to making an offer for you.”  

Her voice came out in a squeak.  “That’s it?”  Then she subsided, her face seeming terribly sad all of a sudden.  

“Laura?”  

She shook her head.  “Ah, nothing.  I had expected he would try to talk you out of this whole mess.”  

“So did I.  I’m as baffled as you.”

  


Laura slipped into Daniel’s room once again and paced impatiently while she waited for him to return from … wherever.  He had to dress for dinner.  

When he did, he didn’t seem surprised to see her.  “Ah, Lady Holt.  How nice to see you again.”

“You haven’t told him.”

“No.”  

“Daniel, you have to tell him,” she implored.

“No, I don’t.  Now don’t you have a case to solve, Linda?  Something about trinkets getting stolen here and there?”  

Her back stiffened.  “There isn’t a case, Daniel.  You manufactured this whole dance merely to lay eyes on your son one last time and interfere once again in his life.  Congratulations, you’re making him miserable.”  

“I’m making him miserable?  My dear Linda, I think you hold the gold medal for excellence in that arena.”  

Laura had forgotten that Daniel had a tongue as sharp as hers—and in this case, used it to cut her to the quick.  Tears sprang to her eyes, and she fought to keep them from falling.  She would not give him that sort of satisfaction.  “You want me to solve this damned case?  Fine.  I’ll find proof.  Then you have to tell Remington the truth.”  

He chuckled, angering her further.  “All right, Laura.  Have it your way.”   


*****

  
The courier, an unassuming blonde of about twenty-five, met Remington at the guest house.  

“Tanya!  My, my, my, you are absolutely lovely.  How did you convince Leland to let you run errands for him?”

She grinned, dimples popping out on her apple blossom cheeks.  “I didn’t have to.  His clients have started asking for me.”  

“That’s because you’re a damned sight prettier and smarter than your Da.  Now, I’d love to chat, but I’m on a tight schedule.  Show me what you’ve got.”  

Tanya opened a flat black jewelry box that held four rings and a jeweler’s loupe.  “Take your pick.”  

He examined each of the four rings but only for show.  He’d known immediately which one belonged on Laura’s hand.  When he made his selection, he and Tanya haggled a bit; then she set the piece in its own black velvet box and gave it to him.  

Tanya wasn’t done though.  Out of her pocket, she drew another box.  “This is from Dadd.  The woman’s ring is vintage Regency; the man’s is modern as most men in that era didn’t wear wedding rings.  But Dad thought you might be interested.”  

Inside was a pair of wedding rings that complemented the one he’d selected for Laura.  “Leland’s a canny old boy.  He knew which one I’d pick.”  

“Anyone with your taste and understanding of jewelry would have selected it, Mr. Steele.”  

Remington slid her a suspicious glance and looked at the rings again.  One authentic, the other merely for show.  Yet they matched—not unlike Miss Holt and himself.  “I’ll take them.  Add it to my bill.”  

“Oh, those are our wedding gift to you.  Congratulations, Mr. Steele.  You and Miss Holt will be happy.”

“I never said anything about Miss Holt.”

“As you said, Mr. Steele, my father’s a canny man.”   


*****

  
Still upset, Laura paced in her room in an attempt to clear Daniel’s words from her mind.  A gaggle of voices outside her door made her pause only a moment before Miss Tate, Sally, Lady Ratcliff and Meg spilled in from the hallway with hardly a knock.  

Lady Ratcliff took charge.  “Laura, we need to get you dressed.  Lord Remington has requested your presence in the parlor.”  Both Sally and Kelly squealed in delight.  Laura waited until she was in the shower to roll her eyes.  

Oddly though, Laura felt a frisson of uncertainty. It’s just a game, Holt. She only had to let Remington give her some sort of smarmy proposal and a fake ring, then enjoy the benefits of being “affianced” in the Regency world.  In the meantime, she had to find proof of Daniel’s duplicity in order to extract her partner from yet another one of his mentor’s intrigues.

She cheated while in the bathroom with a blow dryer and a thin layer of cosmetics, but since Lady Ratcliff didn’t come bursting through the door to yank them out of her hands, she assumed no one was going to complain.  The woman did bark orders at Meg to lace her into her second best gown, a pale green silk creation that complemented the red in Laura’s hair.  Then she had to wait while Meg arranged the tresses in a mass of curls at the top of her head and threaded ribbon through the creation.   

Finally, she was allowed to descend the stairs alone to enter the parlor where Remington waited patiently.  As soon as Laura closed the door, she heard the not-so-quiet patter of footsteps.

It was only familiarity that kept her from sighing in appreciation for the masculine specimen before her—that and the frank admiration reflected in his gleaming blue eyes.

“My God, Laura, you are beautiful.”  His words echoed those of the first day he’d seen her dressed thusly.  He bowed.

She flushed as she closed the distance between them and dipped in a low curtsy.  “You wanted to see me?  Sir?” she teased.  

He grinned, flashing a white smile that made her heart stutter.  “Ah, but I don’t have any paperwork for you.”  He reached into his pocket and drew out a box.  “Only this.”  

She took it gingerly, opening it as her nerves unaccountably danced with anticipation.  Inside was a ring consisting of a single diamond flanked by four emeralds in a filigreed band.  Although the gold was polished and the stones danced in the light, the setting looked old.  “This can’t be real,” she breathed in astonishment.

Remington only arched a brow and took the ring from the box.  “Laura, I haven’t given you enough of the sorts of things one gives to his … girlfriend?  That’s not the right word.  It seems terribly shallow for what we have.  For what we will have,” he promised.  Setting the box on a side table, he took her hand and slipped the ring onto her third finger.  “Regardless of the game, this ring is quite real.  You, Laura, are deserving of it and so much more.”  

He didn’t give her room to protest, for he captured her in an intensely tender kiss that frightened Laura to her toes, though she didn’t pull away.  Instead, she returned it with alarming fervor.  

A light rap on the door broke the mood, although Remington wrapped his arms about her and hugged her tightly for another long moment.  At the second knock, he let her go with a brush of his thumb along her chin.  “Shall we?  I’m sure the masses will want to see proof of our betrothal.”  

She glanced down at the heavy ring.  “I think this ought to convince them.”   


*****

  
After dinner, in which Laura and Remington anchored the center of the table and conversation flowed with the wine, a very happy group rose from the table.  In the parlor where they gathered afterward, the guests approached in pairs or one by one to wish them happiness.   

Laura noted the smug looks from Lord and Lady Ratcliff and concluded they were well pleased with themselves as orchestrators of the betrothal.  Sally and Kelly kissed her cheek, the latter giving her a knowing look as she made her congratulations to the pair of them.  Minutes later, Laura saw Lady Tate stalking Lord Royce on the other side of the room.

Daniel was the last to offer his thoughts.  He brushed a kiss across the knuckles of her right hand.  “Well, Lady Holt, I must offer my congratulations.  You’ve cast your web and ensnared a satisfactory feast.”  His barb stung, and Laura yanked her hand away.    


“Your Grace,” Remington warned.  

“Of course.  May I see the ring?” Daniel asked.  With trepidation, Laura held out her other hand.  Daniel examined it critically, flicking a quick glance at Remington. “It appears I must offer my congratulations to the two of you.  Lady Holt, Lord Remington.”  He bowed somewhat stiffly, pinning Remington with final sharp look before turning away.

Afterward, Laura tried to concentrate on Miss Tate’s piano piece, but the long days without much sleep took their toll.  She rested her head on Remington’s shoulder.  When the mini-concert was over, Remington shook her gently.  “Come awake, Laura.  We’re done for the evening.”  He escorted her upstairs, leaving her properly at her bedroom door.  

Meg helped her to undress and settle into bed, offering her own quiet felicitations.  When the maid curtsied and left, Laura blew out the candle.  

In the darkness, she stroked the base of the ring with her thumb.  The jewel-encrusted piece was heavy.  The weight of it made it different from any fake wedding ring she might have worn in her career.

All at once, her eyes filled with tears, and she buried her face in her pillow.  Memories she’d thought firmly locked away flooded in.  There was a time she’d thought a husband and family were in her future as much as a career as a detective.  

At twenty-four, she’d assumed, naively perhaps, that the right man would be willing to help her balance a family and a career.  She’d been in love then—and had thought marriage was only a matter of time.  Laura had forgotten about the way she’d secreted pictures of wedding dresses away and fantasized about the look on her mother’s face when she announced her engagement.  That Wilson wasn’t headed down the same path simply hadn’t occurred to her until the day he moved out, leaving only a note and a few scattered objects behind.

Now at thirty, she was in love again—and too terrified to assume anything at all.  

That Remington would select a stunning, unique ring for her that would look glamorous on a movie star, yet be wearable everyday with its understated elegance, told her exactly how well he knew her.  But what kind of future did they have together?

She hiccuped into her pillow.  The soft sound must have carried, for a moment later, Remington stood beside her bed.  She tried abruptly to stop the flow of tears and hiccuped again.  

“Laura?” he asked quietly. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I rarely find you imitating a waterfall.”

Scrubbing at her face, she sat up.  The edge of the mattress sagged where Remington joined her.  

“I—I’m exhausted,” she offered.

“I know.  But that doesn’t explain your tears.  Usually a round or two of raillery with me, laced with a touch of disappointment, will settle your nerves adequately for you to sleep.” He picked up her hand.  “Like the ring?”

“I do.  It’s exquisite.”

“So are you.”  

She looked away.

“Laura?”  He placed on her knuckles.  

She started to tell him the truth—then realized that the truth right now would only hurt him.  The last thing she wanted was for him to regret giving her the ring or to sully the memory of that moment.  With a last shake of her head, she put the sadness away.  

“Just a bunch of realizations about myself.  I promise, Remington, absolutely promise to tell you when this weekend is over.  I can’t yet.  It’s too … raw.”

“Did I do something to hurt you?”  

“No.  Not at all.  Perhaps even, that you do so many things right.”  

His hand tightened over hers at the compliment.  “Ah, Laura.”

“Stay with me,” she said on impulse, not wanting him to go just yet.  

Remington declined, regret clear in his voice.  “You’re exhausted, Laura.”

“Do you want to sleep in your bed by yourself or in this one with me?” she demanded quietly.

“That’s the best offer I’ve had in a month.  Scoot over.  You’re hogging the bed.”  

Laura laughed softly as he echoed back her words from a few weeks ago.  The similarities between that moment and this one as turning points in their relationship weren’t lost on her—though the setting was infinitely improved.

His dressing gown landed on the foot of the bed.  She made room for him, then settled into his embrace and tugged the covers up.  With her cheek resting against his shoulder, she laid an arm across his waist, smiling a little as the crisp hair tickled her wrist.  The last thing she remembered was his hand lightly stroking her back.  The sensation was more than soothing, less than erotic, and very, very, nice.  

 

 


	6. Thursday

A familiar knock on the door woke Laura from a dreamless sleep.  The presence of firm, masculine flesh under her hand hardly registered before Remington slipped out of bed, retrieving his robe at the same time he pressed a kiss to her forehead.  She pried her eyes open just in time to see their shared door close silently.

Sliding over, she buried her face in the still warm sheets, inhaling Remington’s scent before answering Mildred’s persistent tapping.  With a grin on her face, she reminded herself to compliment her partner on his speedy exit.

“Good morning, Mildred.”

“Somebody’s chipper.  You look rested, Miss Holt.”  She handed over a cup of coffee.

Laura’s eyes nearly crossed with pleasure as she sipped.  “I am.  I slept better last night than I have in days.”

Mildred seemed vaguely disappointed by the news.  “Well, that’s something anyway.”  She parked herself on the foot of the bed.  “Where’s the ring?”

Laura let go of the mug to hold out her hand.

“Whoa, Nellie.  That’s a good-looking hunk of jewelry.”  Mildred whistled as she inspected it.  Then she peered suspiciously at Laura.  “You’re still wearing it.  It’s not real, is it?”

“Remington said it is.”

Mildred looked up sharply, hope lighting up her eyes.  “Did Mr. Steele ask you?”  Her face fell when Laura shook her head.

“No.”  But her simple answer didn’t begin to explain the complexities of what had been admitted in the parlor--and Mildred deserved a a better explanation.  “The setting is real.  Remington said it’s for what we have—not this charade—but for what we do have,” she paraphrased.   “And—I like it,” Laura admitted.  She surprised herself with the wistfulness in her voice.

Tears welled up in Mildred’s eyes.  “Oh, Miss Holt.  That’s lovely.”

Laura handed her friend a handkerchief from her drawer.  “It’ll have to do for now,” she said cheerfully.  “Now—we have some detective work to do.”

“Sure thing, Miss Holt.  What’s on the agenda?”

“I need you to talk to the housekeeper.  Find a way to make sure she actually did the inventory on Saturday.  According to her records, she’ll do another one today.  None of the “stolen” items are listed as missing in her journal.”  Laura filled in Mildred on the notation from two years before.  

“Uh huh.”

“If they aren’t stolen, then where are they?  In storage somewhere?  It would be helpful if you could get an idea of where they might be hidden.  Something tells me it’s going to be important.  The hair on the back of my neck keeps standing up.”

Mildred cocked her head.  “You’ve lost me, Miss Holt.  Now we have to actually find the missing items?”

Laura shrugged.  “It’s the only way to prove that Mr. Lindermann made up the whole story.  Then maybe I can get a straight answer out of Daniel.”

“But they could be anywhere!”

“Exactly.  Think you can help me out on this one, Mildred?”

“Absolutely, Miss Holt!”

 

As soon as Mildred left, Laura slipped into Remington’s room—only to find her partner dozing in his bed.  She ran through several versions of how she wanted to tease him about disappearing from her room.  He raised his arm off his face as she sat beside him.  The intensity in his blue eyes startled her—even more so when he shifted from prone to sitting swiftly enough that she fell off balance.

Remington caught her with one arm, pressed her to him for a hard kiss, and used his free hand to skim down her back until he found the gap in her short pajamas at the waist.  With his fingers on her bare skin, he slowed—settling in to nibble on her lower lip before moving on to tangle his tongue with hers.  At onslaught of sensation, Laura automatically tried to pull away, but he held her fast as she drowned in his taste.  Heat seared through her, and she found herself returning his kiss with fervor.

He palmed a breast under her shirt before she realized his hand was on the move and jumped at his touch again.  But he only drew his fingers around the outer curve as his mouth continued to savor hers.  A thumb sneaked across the tip of her breast as his tongue delved deep, and Laura found herself aching for much, much more.

The speed with which he aroused her and the new familiarity he had with her body left her dazed—and out of control.  She stiffened in preparation for calling a halt when Remington framed her face with both hands.

“Don’t stop, Laura.  I—”  His hands dropped away.  She was shocked to discover they were trembling.  


*****

 

  
He braced himself for Laura’s withdrawal as her face blanked.  Then, in a fluid move, she flipped her shirt over her head and tossed it to the side.  Naked from the waist up, she faced him with an uncertain smile.  The freckles on her face and neck sprinkled down across her breasts; a few were scattered on her belly.

“Good God, you are beautiful.”  He could hear the hoarseness in his own breath and berated himself.  Always, always he’d maintained his control regardless of what his own sexual desires were.  Never had he been one to beg.  Yet the long night of having Laura in his arms had taken its toll.  Slipping out of her bed this morning in a manner all too familiar in years past left him bereft rather than smug.  While she spoke to Mildred, he’d lain in bed uncomfortably aware of the difference.  And when Laura’d sat beside him, he’d known only one emotion: need.

She traced a single finger along his collarbone.  “So are you.”

Her words pulled him apart.  “Forgive me, Laura.”  Without any further warning, he laid siege to her body, kissing, caressing, finding small ways to bring her pleasure.  He skimmed the lace-edged tap pants down her legs.  They were instantly lost somewhere in the tangle of bedcovers, along with his own briefs that Laura managed to remove without his being fully cognizant of the details.  Then he rolled to his back, taking her with him so that she straddled his waist.

Laura was exposed to him this way.  He recognized that she wasn’t shy or afraid of him.  In truth, she wasn’t letting him have any more of the upper hand than she wanted—yet she followed his lead to see where he would take her.

Deliberately, she eased down so that his shaft slipped into her silky vee—sliding in the notch, yet not taking him inside.  Remington bit his lip hard in an effort not to lose it then and there like an untried youth.  He made himself concentrate only on her pleasure.  As he danced his tongue over the tips of her breasts, her skin flushed pink.  When he slipped a hand into her wet folds and found her nether peak, he experimented rather desperately until he found the sensation she liked best.

With a hitch in her breath, she protested, “Remington, I can’t—”  She tried to wriggle away from his hand.  But her body made a lie of her words as she rocked with his stroking.

Laughing in a low, sensual voice, he encouraged, “Oh, yes, my darling Laura, you can.”

He watched her struggle.  Like a snapshot of their whole relationship, she fought with it even as sensation overtook her.  She closed her eyes, arching backward as the orgasm swept through her.

“Now!”  He sank inside her as much as he dared.  Her spasms took him deeper, drawing him in hard and high.  Unable to resist, his own climax ripped through him, leaving him breathlessly crushing her to him in an effort to wrest every last bit of sensation out of her body.

  


He held her, stroking her back as he’d done last night.  Groaning, he berated himself for his complete lack of consideration for her.  No words of love, no drawing out of her pleasure, just a swift joining that left him utterly drained and still wanting more—

And yet, Laura lay on his chest with her chin pillowed on her hands, wearing a cat-in-the-cream expression.  Her dark eyes glowed as she hummed a pretty tune in contentment.  She drew the covers up over their hips as she settled in, seemingly uninterested in breaking apart their still connected bodies.

“Laura—”  The door to his room swung open.  Remington looked over her shoulder to see the startled valet jolt in surprise—yet the man made a swift recovery and yanked the door closed.

He pressed his lips together, annoyed at the interruption.  But Laura began laughing, quietly at first, then helplessly as she slid off his chest to lie on her back.  He rolled with her, grinning at her reaction even as he was clueless why the situation struck her as funny.  He thought she’d be mortified.

“Remington.”  She brushed tears from her eyes.  “We’ve been shot at on several occasions, nearly run over, interrupted by fake cases, real cases, and Mildred a couple of hundred times; it’s only fitting that someone should walk in on us now.”

Seeing her point, he chuckled, “Perhaps we should consider ourselves lucky we managed to finish the deed.”

“I think you’re right.  Now—who was at the door?”

“My valet.”

“Any chance no one was in the hallway?”

“Not a one.”

“Lady Ratcliff?”

“And Lady Gray.”

Laura covered her eyes.  “I’m not sure what is worse: getting caught by them or my mother when I was kissing Jimmy Keans on the front porch my junior year in high school.”

“Hmm.”  It was the occasional comment like this that pointed out the differences between him and Laura.  At sixteen, no one gave a damn whom he kissed in the alley behind the flop he and Daniel kept.

Still, she wasn’t naïve.  She knew more about him than any person alive—not so much the details as the man within.  The satisfaction on Laura’s face, rather than filling him with dread as it might from another woman, touched a place deep inside him—one which belonged to her and her alone.

Another rap on the door warned them their brief interlude was over.  Laura kissed him, hard and thoroughly, before disappearing through the door with her clothing in hand and a smile on her face.

He yanked his own dressing gown off the chair and tied it before answering the door.  Daniel wore a dark frown as he walked in without invitation.

“You’re not making this any easier.  The Ladies Ratcliff and Gray spilled the on dit all over the parlor not ten minutes ago.”

Too sated to let such a thing disturb him, Remington needled Daniel, “Glad to know we made the morning news.  I do hope we were the top story.”

“You don’t seem bothered by it.”

“No.  Now if you don’t mind, I need to dress for breakfast.  If you would, ring my valet while I’m in the shower.”

With faint astonishment, Daniel nodded.  Remington grinned at him as he stepped into the bathroom.

  


 

While the valet dressed him, Mr. Lindermann himself came to call.

“Mr. Steele, I’m quite at a disadvantage here.  Had I but known about your relationship with Miss Holt, I would have paired you as a married couple.  This,” he flapped his wrists in confusion, “is quite complicated.”

“In what manner?” Remington asked congenially.

“If you were regular guests, I would insist you marry on Saturday morning after a proper wedding breakfast.  Miss Holt’s reputation is quite tattered, and if you don’t do the proper thing and marry her, then yours will suffer as well.”

“Why a wedding breakfast?”

“Oh … it’s Regency tradition that weddings have to be conducted in a church before noon.  We have the chapel on the first floor at our disposal, and I have a local man who poses as a minister.”

“My good man, it is my understanding that a special license allows us to marry anytime and anywhere.  Tomorrow evening will do.  In any case, I don’t see the problem, Mr. Lindermann.  Miss Holt and I are quite used to any charade that is necessary for us to conclude the case.  I do apologize for the confusion though.”

“Ah yes, the case.  I nearly forgot with the state of things.  Have you made progress?”

In truth, Remington had no idea. “Of course we have.  By Saturday, we’ll have your culprit well in hand.”

Now why did that seem to worry Harold?

 

 

Remington waited for Laura at the top of the stairs.  They walked together, arm in arm, to the breakfast parlor where all ten guests fell silent as they appeared.

He cleared his throat.  “Good morning, Your Graces, Ladies, Lords.”  He bowed and Laura curtsied in acknowledgement.  “I’ve wonderful news this morning.  Lady Holt has agreed to wed with me tomorrow evening in the Brighton chapel, after which we will celebrate with dinner and the ball provided by Lord Brighton.  We do ask for your blessing on this happy event.”

To her credit, Laura didn’t flinch, flush, stammer or even give him a sidelong glance.  She did, however, use her thumb to lightly caress the base of the ring he’d given her before lifting her chin to grace the throngs with a smile.

The curious movement flummoxed him as he shook hands with Sir Lockwood.  


 

*****

 

  
Daniel eyed the pair from his end of the table.  While he ate, he sorted through various possibilities and landed on the one he liked the least, yet—perhaps in light of recent events—might yield the highest gain.  He would have to speak to Lord Royce very soon.

 

  
*****

 

  
Most of the guests sorted themselves by sex and took off toward opposite ends of the house as the breakfast concluded.  Laura stole a moment with Daniel before he slipped out.

In a very low voice, she queried, “Leaving so soon, Your Grace?”  While she spoke, she eyed Remington as he made conversation with Lord Gray at the far end of the table.

“I thought I’d keep Gray company.”  He nodded to the other man as he left the room.

“You’re avoiding Mr. Steele.  You weren’t planning to tell him at all,” she accused in a low voice.

“I really wish you wouldn’t concern yourself with this.”  His expression seemed pained.

“Well, I am concerned, damned concerned.  Your problem will be solved one way or the other.  I’ll be the one stuck living with the secret,” she hissed.

“Delicately put, Laura.”

“Go ahead and make your jokes.  But it isn’t fair to Mr. Steele, and it isn’t fair to me.”

“You’re right.  It’s time for the truth.”  Leaving her behind, he made his way around the table where Remington waited.

“Ah, Daniel.”

“Harry, my boy, I’ve something to tell you.”

“Let’s take a tour of the gardens, then.”  Daniel exchanged a long look with Laura.  She curtsied to him, smiled at her partner and left the room.

  


 

The cloudy day kept everyone indoors, cancelling a game of cricket and leaving most of the guests lounging about, bored out of their minds.  Not at all interested in another afternoon of embroidery or piano playing, Laura paid a visit to Sunrise in the stables.  She’d pocketed an apple from the table and shared it with the mare.

When she’d given Sunrise a last pat, she noted a shadowed figure near the open stable door.   “Back from the tour so soon, you eager beaver?”  Without hesitation, she walked straight toward him and pulled him into a hard kiss.  Everything about it was wrong—the shape of the lips, the taste, his scent.  She pushed away in shock—  “Lord Royce?”

“If I say yes, will we have to stop?” he smirked, then stole another kiss.

She shoved him away.  “Let go of me.”

“Seems you’ve got yourself in a bind here, Lady Holt.  I can help you get out of it.”

“Who says I need help?”

“Your fiancé is using you.”

She didn’t dare ask how.  “What makes you say that?”

“Ask him.”

“Laura?”  Remington’s voice carried through the front door of the stable.

“Why don’t we both ask him,” she suggested.

But Anthony grabbed her arm to stop her from going through the door.  “Do you really want him to find us in here?  Together?”

She hesitated.  She had nothing to hide, nor fear.  Yet—Remington had taken an intense dislike to Lord Royce.

Anthony stole a last kiss on her cheek before he slipped past her and out the rear door of the stable.  Remington walked in just then to see his nemesis sprinting across the lawn.

“Consorting with the enemy, Lady Holt?”

Flustered and annoyed, she retorted, “It isn’t what you think.”

“Yeah, well, no need to look guilty.”  She put her hands on her hips, making him quirk his lips in a grin.  “Your hijinks this morning pale in comparison to this.”  His lips curved with sensuality, and he captured her mouth for a possessive kiss.

She tossed her hair back.  “Do they now?”  She started to flirt, then remembered where he’d been—and with whom.  Growing serious, she said, “You talked with Daniel.”

Remington shook his head.  “It’s all so tragic.”

When she saw the faint tears in his eyes, she laid a hand on his shoulder.  “Death always is.”

He wiped them away.  “Ah, poor Daniel.  He loved that dog so much.”

“What dog?” she asked sharply.

“Montague,” he said.  “His cocker spaniel.”

Tightening her lips, she spit out, “You mean to tell me you have been in there talking about a cocker spaniel named Montague?”  She pointed to the garden.

Remington nodded.  “And what a little cocker he was too.”

She stalked through the front door of the stable, “Where is he?”

“In the garden, Laura.  He’s, uh, composing himself.”

She shot him a look full of fury and went to find His Grace.

 

 

*****

 

  


The moment Harry left the garden, Daniel zipped into the house.  He worked his way through the guests and hallways until he slipped into his son’s room like a wisp of smoke vanishing into a crack.

It only took him seconds to pop the catch on the trunk and another half a minute to find what he wanted.  He pocketed it and refastened the catch.  Rising, he searched the wall separating Harry’s and Linda’s rooms.  He discovered the panel where the latch was hidden, slid the door open, and found her trunk.

Less than three minutes after he entered Harry’s room, he walked out again, confident in the next stage of his plan.

 

 

******

 

  
Laura scoured the grounds looking for Daniel.  She ran into Mildred just outside the servant’s entrance.

Mildred didn’t hesitate, just threw her arms around Laura and squeezed.  “I heard the news!”

Returning the awkward hug, she said lightly, “I suppose everyone in the house knows we were discovered in bed together this morning.”

Mildred’s eyes grew round in shock.  “I meant the wedding!  You mean you and Mr. Steele finally—”

“Did the deed?  What do you think precipitated the wedding?”

“But I thought you weren't going to marry him to save him from the INS?”

“It’s not real, Mildred.  We’re just keeping Mr. Lindermann happy.  Speaking of which, what did you find out from the housekeeper?”

“She did inventory of the downstairs right before breakfast.  She does the upstairs after the maids clean during breakfast.  I told her Mr. Lindermann wanted me trained to work one of his other properties.  She bought it and showed me how she tracks everything.”  Mildred put her hands on her hips. “You and Mr. Steele—”

“And what did you find out?” interrupted Laura.

Chastised only a little, Mildred told her.  “Oh, I asked about that little shepherdess figurine since it was listed in her journal.  She nodded and said it was locked up in storage for a couple of weeks but that it would be back on display after this group cleared out.”

“I wonder where that might be.”

“I asked.  There’s a groundskeeper’s  cottage that is sometimes used for honeymooning couples.”  She winked at Laura.  “Perhaps you and Mr. Steele could make use of it.”

 

  
*****

 

  
Lady Ratcliff and Lady Gray took it upon themselves to dance attendance on Laura for the rest of the afternoon, but eventually Laura prettily pleaded a headache and fled to her room.  She had to find a way to come up with proof of the goods, or Daniel wasn’t going to come clean.  Thinking about the whole predicament did give her the headache she’d claimed.

She rang for Meg and changed into a riding habit.  Sunrise seemed happy to see her and nickered before fidgeting as she was saddled up.  The groom warned Laura to keep her ride short because the weather would turn to rain before long.

“Is there a place to stay dry if I’m caught out in it?” she asked with pretended innocence.

He grunted, not believing her for a moment.  “The groundskeeper’s cottage is thataway.  Good spot for a bit of privacy.”  He pointed a thumb over his shoulder as he grinned and flicked a glance at her ring.

“Ah.  I won’t be long then.”

As she and Sunrise worked their way across a low hill, she wondered what Remington made of her wanting him in bed last night and making love this morning.  She couldn’t quite explain it herself—only that it seemed right.  Even in the grey light of the overcast clouds, the ring glimmered on her hand.  She wondered how Remington knew she preferred emeralds.  Leave it to a jewel thief.…

She had to admit they had ventured into new territory and not only in the bedroom.  For them to have a fight and not cover it up with flippant remarks--or avoiding the subject entirely--was still new.  But perhaps they'd learned something from the Friedlich Spa after all.  She still wondered why Remington had made his accusations--something must have set him off--but for now, she'd chalk it up to the stress of the week.

Naturally, the weather changed from to dry to pouring buckets as soon as the little building was in sight.  Laura tucked Sunrise under a long overhang of the roof and ducked inside.  The cottage was snug—more like an antique version of an efficiency apartment, she thought.

She wandered about, picking up trinkets here and there to examine, looking for the missing pieces.  Keeping an eye on the weather to see if it would lighten up, she inspected the bookcase bordering one wall and gave the whole cottage a quick, thorough search.  Finally, she began pulling books off the shelf to look for a hidden safe.  Reaching up, she tried to pull one off the second-to-top row.  It seemed to be stuck.  Not one to be deterred, she dragged a chair to the bookshelf and used it as a stepstool.

The door to the cottage opened, admitting a dripping handsome man into the parlor.  Laura rolled her eyes and pried at the book.  “What are you doing here, Lord Royce?”

“Looking for you.  What are you doing?”

“Occupying myself until the rain lets up.”

“I could help with that.”  His voice was full of seductive charm as he crossed the little room to stand beside her.

“Anthony?”

“Yes, Laura?”

“Back off.”

“You’re not even going to give me a chance?”

Something in his tone made her pause, but she forgot about it when she pulled the book free. That’s odd.  The book was only two inches deep.  She pulled herself up to peer into the empty slot.

“Laura, what in the hell are you doing?”

She glanced down at him and then back at the slot.  She began pulling books from that row, all of them cut close to the binding.  Anthony danced backward as they hit the floor near his feet.

“Are you crazy?” he yelled.

“No.  I’m looking for something.  By the way, what’s your real name?”

“Anthony.  Anthony Roselli.  My friends call my ‘Tony.’  Why?”

“Uh huh.  What are you doing here?”  She heard him rustling about uncomfortably.  “You’re not getting anywhere with me,” she said rather pointedly.  “ You might as well be honest.”

“I was hired.”

“By Leighton Sinclair?”

He was quiet for a minute.  “How’d you know?”

“I’m rather familiar with the players.  What was your job?  To seduce me so that Remington wouldn’t want anything to do with me?”

He didn’t answer.  She turned to face him and saw the guilt in his expression.  “I see.”  She went back to inspecting the now-empty shelf.  “Ah ha!” she crowed.  With a pin from her hair, she began picking a lock hidden in the paneling.

“What in the hell are you doing?” he asked again.   

“I’m a detective, Tony.  A private one.  I was hired to find—”  The panel door popped open and she drew out a small figurine.  “The person who stole this—and everything else in here,” she said as she peered inside.  “Interesting.  And I’ll bet I know who has the key.”  She slipped the statuette into her pocket.

“A detective?  Then what’s the deal with the Duke?”

She shrugged nonchalantly.  “That Duke has his fingers in more scams than a mafia don at a horse track.  He doesn’t like me.  He’s afraid I’ve corrupted his protégé.”

“His protégé?”

“Lord Remington.”  She took a quick inventory from her precarious perch.  Yes, everything is here.

“I’m confused.  The Duke hired me to seduce you so that Lord Remington wouldn’t have anything to do with you.  But Lord Remington is your new fiancé.  You’re good with that?”

She nodded, looking at him over her shoulder.  “Quite.  We’ve been partners for four years.  It shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone—least of all the Duke.”  She shut the safe securely and climbed down to retrieve the books off the floor.

“Four years,” he said faintly.  “Then I suppose you know him pretty well.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You don’t think he’s using you?”

She peered at him, trying to discern if he knew about the letter.  “Most partnerships require give-and-take.  At times, he’s held me up.  This time, it’s my turn.”

He shook his head and held up his hands.  “You know what, Lady Holt?  I’m out of this.”

“That’s probably best,” she agreed.  “Do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t tell anyone you followed me in here.”

“Sure thing.”  He collapsed on the sofa in resignation as she put the last book back in place.

 

 

 

 

She murmured soothingly to the mare as she climbed the mounting block.  “Sunrise, you’re just going to have to get wet.  I’m not about to get caught in that damned cottage with Tony.”

The horse whinnied as if she understood, then sulked with flat ears as she trotted home in the rain.

 

 

*****

 

  


Remington found Laura in her room wrestling with wet fabric and laces.  Without her asking, he began working the strings loose as she shivered.

“What in the bloody hell were you doing, woman?”

“Solving this silly case.  That’s why we’re here, remember?”

Mollified somewhat, he tugged the last of the laces free.  She reached into her pocket and set a figurine onto the bed.  At a glance, he recognized it as one of the missing items.

“You’ve been a busy bee today.”  The dress fell wetly to the floor, leaving her wearing only the corset and pantaloons.  “Aren’t you missing some clothing here?” he commented as he pulled the strings out of the stays.

She looked down.  “Oh, no—Miss Tate said I could leave off a layer or two, especially when I’m riding or for the formal dancing. “

Miss Tate be damned.  He could see Laura’s damp flesh covered in goosebumps, and he had more than a couple of thoughts as to how to warm her.  She loosened the drawstring to the pants now that the stays were coming free.  They joined the dress on the floor.  She wiggled out of the corset, leaving her only in the long chemise that flirted with the curve of her rear.

“I found all of the supposedly stolen items.  I told you this case was a sham.”

“So you did.”  Remington wasn’t paying much attention to her words as she scooped up all the wet fabric and carried it to the sink.  She came back with a towel that she used to dry off the floor, her loose breasts moving appealingly under the damp material.  Identical knocks at both their doors warned them it was time to dress for dinner.

Laura gave him a wide grin as she sat back on her heels and rose.  “Later, Mr. Steele.”  Gently, she prodded him into his own room and shut the door.

He stood on the other side, befuddled by the entire state of affairs.  It occurred to him he had no idea what was going on.

 

 

*****

 

  


Daniel descended the carriage and waved it off as the butler took his beaver hat, overcoat and walking stick.  Lord Royce waited for him in the hallway, making a fair dent in whatever drink he had in his hand.

“Your Grace.  Might I have a word with you?”  Anthony didn’t sound very happy, and Daniel sighed.  He was tired.  The short trip had been a challenge--even for him.  He’d come away successful, if a bit short in the pocket as a result.

He coughed twice and nodded, grateful for the two fingers of brandy the other man handed him from the sideboard.

“It appears that Lord Remington is much more attached to Lady Holt than you suspected, Your Grace.”  Anthony took a fortifying sip from his glass.  “It doesn’t appear to be one-sided.”

“Indeed.”  He swallowed another cough.

Anthony seemed frustrated by his answer.  “I overheard you two.  You’re gonna let him con her into marrying him just to keep him from being deported?”  He shook his head.  “She’s not as bad as you’ve made her out to be.  I think she really likes him.”

“You forget, Lord Royce, Lady Holt is an excellent actress when the situation calls for it.  Nevertheless, I understand your position.  If she’s not amenable to your advances, I’ll have to make other arrangements.”  Daniel pinned Anthony with a haughty stare.  After a moment, the other man bowed and departed.

Daniel slowly climbed the stairs.  Once in his room, he fumbled for a handful of pills and swallowed them along with his brandy.  In weariness, he sank into his chair and contemplated the awkwardness of truth.

 

 

*****

 

  


Dinner was a quiet affair after all the gossip and excitement of the day.  Afterward, Lady Ratcliff took Laura personally by the arm and escorted her into the drawing room to have a discussion about wedding plans.  A gaggle of women followed, tittering in their excitement.

Laura sat on a plush chair across from Lady Ratcliff.  The older woman had a small writing table in front of her and parchment for notes.

“Tomorrow morning we will wake early.  Lord Brighton will have a selection of gowns brought up from which we will choose a dress.  Do you prefer gold or silver accents?”

“Gold.”

“Excellent choice.  Now, what sort of cake do you prefer?”

“Italian cream?”

Lady Ratcliff rang for the footman.  “Tell the cook the bride prefers Italian cream.”  He bowed and departed.

“Flowers.  Color preference?”

Laura shook her head in confusion.  “I like them all.”

“Good.  A cluster of tiny buds will be lovely.  I’ll assemble it myself.”

Lady Ratcliff continued to fire off questions.  Regardless of how she answered, the other woman had a plan.  Laura felt a thrill of excitement in spite of herself.It’s all in good fun, Holt.  Relax.  You get to hold this over Mr. Steele’s head for months—maybe even years.    


  


 

*****

 

  


The men lingered over port before dispersing to the card room.  Lord Gray promptly fell asleep on a couch, snoring in fits and starts.  Lord Ratcliff joined Lockwood, Royce, and Remington for a game of faro.  Daniel poured another drink and sat at the table.

Remington gave him a sharp look, noting the faded color on his mentor’s face, but Daniel waved him off.

Ratcliff held the cards.  “Three-card loo.  One hundred to play, gentlemen.”

Each of the men exchanged their money for chips and play commenced.

Remington had forgotten what fun loo could be.  He hadn’t played it often over the years, but really, counting the cards was a great deal easier than in poker.  Gray turned out to be a canny cardplayer.  He puffed on a cigar, making Remington yearn for one—except Laura wasn’t a fan of them.

Daniel was off his game a bit, causing Remington concern, but not so badly that he was losing outright.  Lockwood and Royce were comfortable players, neither challenging the others nor wasting their time by not knowing the game.  But when the chips began to tip in the favor of the better players, cracks began to show in Royce’s façade.

“That was a pretty trick, Remington,” Anthony said as Remington raked the chips into a pile yet again.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

“Too bad you won’t get a chance to do that again.”

“Take a trick?  That’s rather presumptuous to assume unless you are finished with the game.”

Anthony stood up.  “I don’t think you get it, Remington.  I don’t like the way you play cards.”

“Expertly, with a touch of finesse?”

“Cowardly, with a heavy dose of scheming.”

Remington stood.  “Take care with your words, Lord Royce.  I find offense with them.”

“Good.  You should.”  Anthony balled up a fist.

“Lord Ratcliff,” Remington asked sharply.  “What are the house rules for responding to a challenge of honor?”

The older man laid down his cards.  “Swords at dawn.  Blunt tips.  First touch wins the challenge.”

“Very well.  Choose your second, Lord Royce.  I’ll see you at dawn.  Cash my chips, Lord Ratcliff.  I’ll collect my winnings on the morrow.”  He strode out of the room with Daniel hard on his heels.

The older man caught up with him on the landing.  “Harry, stop.  This is going too far.”

“The bloody prick wants Laura for himself.”

“Perhaps she’s encouraged him.”

Remington abruptly stopped and faced his mentor.  “What do you have against Laura, Daniel?”

“I don’t want you hurt, Harry.  Loving a woman too much … well, let’s just say the pain can last a lifetime.”  

“Not having her would hurt far worse.”

Daniel turned away to climb the stairs.  “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of, my boy.”

Remington let him go, stunned by the other man’s apparent misery.

 

 

*****

 

  


Lady Ratcliff escorted Laura to her room.  “Gather your things, dear.  You’re sleeping on my divan tonight.”

Laura laughed at the joke, then discovered it wasn’t one.  “With all due respect, Lady Ratcliff, I’m thirty years old.  I think I can sleep where I choose.”

“Tomorrow, you may.  Tonight, you may not.  Come, dear.  We’re all tired and have much to do in the morning.”

Mindful of keeping Mr. Lindermann happy, Laura complied with great trepidation.  Later, as she settled onto the hard divan at the opposite end of the house, she wistfully remembered how good it felt to sleep in Remington’s arms.

 

 

 


	7. Friday

“Salut!  En garde,” called Lord Ratcliff.  The duelists flicked their foils upward in an acknowledgement of respect, then took their positions on the damp fields where a small cadre of servants and guests watched.  The men settled into their positions, weight on the balls of their feet and arms extended with foils in hand.

“Allez!”  At the command to begin, Remington patiently waited for Anthony to approach in a deliberate attack and riposted with a flick of the wrist to parry the blade.  Twice he defended himself in this manner until Anthony took a half-step back.  Remington pressed the advantage, but Anthony brought his foil up in time to prevent the touch.

“Ah, excellent blade work, my man.  I must say I’m impressed that someone of your … bulk can be light on his feet,” Remington goaded.  He easily countered the attack and riposted, only to have Anthony try to bind his blade.

“It helps to have the muscle to actually accomplish something rather than standing around looking pretty all day.”

Remington lifted his foil free, retreating a step.  “I rather think Lady Holt would take offense to your accusation.  She is quite accomplished you know.”  He engaged again, thrusting forward in a low attack that had Anthony dancing backward in an effort to avoid it.

“She’s better than you.”  Anthony attacked again.

Remington merely slapped away the blade.  “If you’re expecting me to argue the point, you’re quite mistaken.”

Anthony held his ground, neither attacking nor defending.  “Then what in the hell are you doing with her?”   

“I might ask the same.  It appears you’re only interested in using her for your own dissolute purposes.”  Remington pressed the attack, but Anthony countered it and riposted.

“I’m using her?  You’re using her to keep from being deported.  Where I come from, that’s one step lower than a pimp.”

Remington stepped back and set the tip of his blade in the grass.  “Lord Royce, might we exchange the blades for something a bit more primeval and ultimately a bit more satisfying?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”  Both men tossed their weapons to their seconds; then without hesitation, Remington brought his fist hard across Anthony’s chin, sending him staggering across the grass.

Anthony came back with a flurry of punches, one of which split Remington’s lip and sent him sprawling.  “Come on.”

Standing slowly, he brushed off his legs.  “Have a care for the face, old chap.  I’m getting married in a few hours.”  He brought a fist square into Anthony’s stomach.

The two men exchanged punches, shoves and nasty retorts.  When Remington fell to his knee, one of the grinning footman yelled, “ A fiver on the lad in grey.”

A groom across the way countered, “You’re covered, me boy-o!”

Anthony saluted the footman and reached down to pull Remington to his feet.  Conveniently, Anthony slugged him again, sending him into the arms of the groom and Daniel.  They shoved him back into the fray in time for him to trip Anthony and catch his breath at the same time.

“How are the odds?” he asked Lord Ratcliff.

“Even money, my boy!  Even money!”  The older man clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a shove toward Anthony.

Remington was fast getting winded, and more than a couple of the blows he’d taken were beginning to hurt.  This needed to end soon.  He caught his nemesis in a head lock.  “Antony, old chap, if I get this right, you think I’m using Laura.”

“Get off me,” Anthony panted, groaning a bit in the process.

“I’ll let you go if you don’t hit me again.”

“All right.”

Remington let go, and Anthony stepped out of range.  They ignored the muttered grumblings of the onlookers.  They weren’t too happy to be deprived of their morning entertainment.

“I’m not using Laura.  Yes, I’ve got a persnickety problem, and I’ve yet to find an answer.  The wedding tonight is a sham to keep Lord Brighton happy.  Laura knows it; I know it.  It’s a damned shame it’s coming at such an inconvenient time, but there it is.”

“She isn’t marrying you?”

“No.  I haven’t proposed either.”

Anthony leaned in, putting his back to the crowd.  “Then what’s with the old guy?  The Duke of Sinclair?”

Remington dabbed from his lip with his knuckle, shaking his head.  “That ‘old’ guy could run circles around the both of us.”  Tired of the fight, he held out his hand.  “Done?”

Anthony nodded and shook it.  “Done.  I think I owe you an apology.”

“Accepted.  Now I’ve got to clean up for my bride.  She wouldn’t want blood on the wedding dress now, would she?”  Remington gathered the reins of the horse he’d rode in and swung up into the saddle.  Refusing to grimace at the aches and pains, he raised a cheerful hand to the men and sent the horse into a smooth lope toward the stables.  


 

*****  


 

“He did what?”  Laura sat up shock at Lady Ratcliff’s words.   

“You may call me Sabrina, Lady Holt.  Your betrothed fought a duel this morning at dawn over you.  Or at least it started as a duel and degenerated into a fight with the fists.”  She sniffed and lifted her chin.  “One expects better of our gentlemen.”

“I haven’t known one yet who wouldn’t use his fists when provoked.  Who won?”

“I suppose you’re right.  Oh, they shook hands, although one of the grooms overheard Lord Royce apologizing to Lord Remington.  Come now; Meg has brought you chocolate this morning.  It’s time to freshen up, and then we can select a gown for you before breakfast.”

Feeling like an utter fraud, Laura resigned herself to going along with Sabrina’s wishes for the day.  “My name is Laura.  My apologies for all the fuss.”

Sabrina grinned.  “It wouldn’t be fun without a bit of scandal.  Why, we would have been terribly bored without all the entertainment.”

“Then I suppose I’m glad I’m here to help,” Laura sighed.

 

Lord Brighton brought up the dresses to Lady Ratcliff’s room personally, with a seamstress in tow.

Laura pulled her wrap a little more closely.  “Lord Brighton, might I have a word with you—in private?”

“Ah, of course, Lady Holt.”  He followed her into her bedroom, where she retrieved the shepherdess figurine from her drawer.

He paled, “I ... ah—”

“Perhaps I can help, Lord Brighton.  I’ve located the missing items, all of them.  I presume you and the housekeeper are the only persons with a key to a particular safe?”  She waited for his nod.  “Good.  And since your housekeeper has accounted for all these items in her weekly inventory, I believe it is clear that these items weren’t actually stolen.  Misplaced, perhaps.”

“Ah, of course.”

“Good,” she said again.  “Then let us dispense with the details of the case and focus on why Lord Remington and I are really here.  How much did Lord Sinclair pay you to manufacture the need for us to come?”

Lord Brighton tittered.  “It would not be proper for me to name a particular sum.  However, I believe the word ‘handsome’ will do.”

“What else did he require of you?”

“Ah, he asked that I give you a fair amount of leeway to conduct your affairs—your business, I mean.”

She nodded.  “I see.  Anything else?”

“No, Lady Holt.”

“I’ll assume our business is concluded then.”

“Oh Lady Holt, you can’t go home now.  We have a wedding and a ball!  If you go home, it will be in disgrace, and the guests will be shocked.  It will take years for the gossip to settle.  The servants will be in an uproar.”

Laura didn’t really think she would be able to get away with leaving anyway.  She still had Daniel and his little secret to manage.

Mr. Lindermann must have seen her dismay and pressed the advantage.  “Perhaps I can offer you and Lord Remington the use of the groundskeeper’s cottage this weekend.  I’ll have it stocked for a romantic honeymoon for two.”

She almost turned it down flat, then thought the better of it.  Hadn’t Remington tried to arrange a romantic weekend in San Francisco for them?  Had she not implied she was amenable to a night in Reno?  She bit her lip, admitting, “That would be lovely.”  

“Then perhaps we will both come out of this arrangement satisfied.  Come now, Lady Holt.  I have a gown that is exquisite in its own right.  With your beauty, you’ll look like a queen.”  

She stopped him before he could leave.  “One more thing, Lord Brighton.  Would you have Ms., Mrs. … Mildred brought up as a particular guest of mine?  She’d love to attend the wedding.”  No need to mention she’ll murder me if she misses it.

“Of course, Lady Holt.  Consider it done.  Lady Krebs will be in attendance as your particular guest of honor.”

 

 

******

  


Daniel intercepted Harold in the hallway.  “I need to ask a favor of you, Brighton.”

“If it involves Lady Holt, I should warn you, she’s discovered your scheme and is having no more of it.  I had to grovel a bit to keep her from packing her things and leaving.”

“Oh, she won’t leave, not yet.  I’ve made certain of that.  But we have one last thing to do, old boy.”  


 

  
*****  


 

  
Mildred adjusted the flowers in Laura’s hair for about the hundredth time since Meg had settled them in place an hour ago.

“Enough.  They’re fine.”

“Don’t you want them to look perfect?  Of course, you already do.”

Under her breath so that Sabrina and Sally wouldn’t hear, Laura reminded Mildred, “Do remember, Lady Krebs, that this is merely a sham.  They don’t need to be perfect.”

“You don’t look like it’s a sham,” Mildred replied with a knowing smile.

Laura looked away.  In truth, she was having a hard time separating fact from fiction right now.  With a ring on her hand, wearing a gorgeous silk wedding gown flecked with gold embroidery, and the very person who’d led her in a dizzying dance waiting in the chapel, it all seemed disturbingly real.  If her mother showed up now, Laura thought she might run screaming into the garden.  As it was, Mildred was fussing enough to be her mother.

“Do you have everything?  Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a penny for your shoe?”

“What—oh, I don’t know.”  Laura glanced down.  “The betrothal ring is old; the shoes are new—I bought them for the ball.  The dress is borrowed, and my petticoat has blue flowers embroidered on it.  No penny though.”

Solemnly, Mildred produced a coin and slipped it into Laura’s slipper.

“Why are you worrying about these things, Mildred?”

“Oh—I just love weddings!”

As the clock ticked toward four, amid more of Mildred’s fidgeting, Laura’s nerves jumped and jittered at their own crazy tempo.  Finally, Lady Ratcliff motioned the girls to take their places in the chapel, and Mildred kissed Laura on the cheek.  “Have fun.  Don’t trip.”

“That’s excellent advice.”  Alone for a moment, Laura paced in the hallway.  How did I get myself talked into this?  I don’t even LIKE weddings.

Not true, a tiny voice reminded her.  She and Remington had attended one just a month ago and had a wonderful time.  He’d held her hand throughout the ceremony and even passed her a handkerchief when she teared up during the vows.

Daniel and the gentleman playing the part of the minister arrived, thankfully interrupting her thoughts.

“Ah, Linda, you look lovely today,” he caroled.

The minister gave him an odd look.  “I thought her name was ‘Laura’?”

“Old joke between us.”

“Why are you here, Daniel?”  Laura tried to contain her annoyance.

“Did you forget I’m standing for you at the moment?  I’ll be escorting you down the aisle.”

“Scared I’ll bolt?”

Daniel gave her an odd look.  “No, Miss Holt, that is the one thing I’d never expect of you—especially when it comes to my son.  You realize, young woman, that you’ve developed an infallible knack for upsetting my plans over the years?”

His words reminded her that he’d dodged the truth yet again.  “You’re a coward,” she hissed.  “You say you want to spend your last days with your son, and then you lie to his face.”

“Laura, believe me; it’s not what you—”

She cut him off.  “I don’t care what scam you’re involved in this time, Mr. Chalmers.  Your charm doesn’t work on me.  You’ve made your choice—and you know something?  I think you’ve made the right one.  I’m glad you haven’t told Mr. Steele the truth.  He’s better off imagining the strong father he deserves than finding out he’s the son of a cowardly con artist.  Rest in peace.”

Like a queen, she glided to the doors and imperiously held out her arm to Daniel.  He waited a beat, his expression blank.  At last, he took her hand with a respectful nod.

The acknowledgement reduced her ire from boiling to simmering.  She turned to the minister.  “I’m ready.  Let’s get this show on the road.”

 

 

*****  

 

  


Remington had assumed an enormous variety of guises over the years—now here he stood presuming to be a groom.  This one was certainly new.  At least the period costume helped him to assume the proper character.  He stood straight and waited patiently for the farce to begin.  He wondered how Laura was faring and imagined she was simmering right now over the fussing and fripperies.  He dearly hoped they would be able to joke about this later.

Dipping his hand into his pocket, he checked again to make certain he hadn’t forgotten Laura’s ring.  He’d decided to use the ones Leland had sent along.  They filled the bill and looked a great deal better than the token thin bands of gold Lord Brighton had offered.  Daniel had the other band now.  The surprise on his mentor’s face had been priceless when Remington had produced it from of his pocket.

“Planning this, were you?” Daniel had asked lightly.

“Covering for the contingencies,” he’d replied.  

The opening of the chapel doors demanded his attention, and he turned as the violinist began to play something elegant.  A middle-aged man wearing what Remington assumed were period vestments walked down the aisle first and took his place.

When Laura stepped into the doorway, Remington couldn’t see her as a dozen people stood in front of him.  But the chapel was small, and ten steps brought her to him, escorted by Daniel.

Exquisite.  Laura, the epitome of a modern woman, wore the antique gown as she belonged to it.  The layers of silken fabric, along with two hundred years or more of tradition woven into the setting, suited her just as much as one of her professional ensembles.  Her chin was high, and her annoyance with her escort was more than evident.  But then her lips curved into an appreciative smile as she deliberately looked him over, head to toe.  The faint humor he read in her face as she gave herself over to the game delighted him, and he found himself standing next to her as Daniel placed her hand in his.

The whole event took less than fifteen minutes.  For that Remington was terribly grateful.  The minister took care to look stern as he ordered each of them to love, honor and respect each other.

As Remington slid the wedding band onto Laura’s finger—she’d moved the betrothal ring to the other hand for the event—he’d expected to see a touch of revulsion or simply annoyance in her face.  Instead, her lips parted in surprise and—longing?  He wasn’t certain.

He didn’t imagine, though, the tremor in her hands when she took the ring from Daniel and placed it on his finger or the deliberate way she echoed the minister’s words.  By the time the minister pronounced them husband and wife, Laura had recovered her sensibilities and indulged him in a sweet kiss—lingering a bit while the guests clapped.

He escorted her down the aisle, catching Mildred’s teary, wide smile and Daniel’s smirk at the whole scenario.

The moment he touched the door of the chapel to open it for Laura, the gaggle spilled through, and the “newlyweds” had to shake hands in an impromptu receiving line as the guests exited—presumably to the dining room where a sumptuous feast waited.

No one lingered with food and drink about.  Remington and Laura were left alone in the hallway.

“Give them a good show, distract them a bit afterward and go on.  ’Tis the mark of a good con,” Remington mused.  “What shall we do now?”

Laura played with the tiny bouquet of flowers in her hand.  “I convinced Mr. Lindermann that he owed us something for deceiving us, even if it was on Daniel’s behalf.”  Her tone was a little too steady, warning him she was up to something.

“Oh?”

“We have the groundskeeper’s cottage for the night.”

“Just the two of us?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Alone?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Separate rooms?”

“Only one bed in the whole place.”

“Oh, Laura,” he breathed.  Without thinking, he brought her hand up and kissed the back of it.  “Can we skip the dinner and dancing?”

“Not a chance, buster.  First, I’m starving because those ‘ladies’ in there wouldn’t allow me to have a bite so that I would ‘look my best’ today.  Second, you made me practice all those steps for three straight nights.  I’m putting them to use for probably the first and last time in my life.”

“But Miss Holt—”

“Lady Remington, if I recall.  And the answer is no.  You have to wait.”  She peered at him.  “I’ve never known you to turn down food.”

Deliberately, he leaned down to whisper, “I’ve never had the luxury of having you for a feast.”

Abruptly she turned and walked away from him.

“Laura!”  He caught her elbow after three steps and stepped in front of her.  “I didn’t—you’re blushing!” he said in delight.  She was pink-faced and tried to hide it by turning away again.  But he merely pulled her to him and kissed her warm lips.  “I’ll take that as an excellent sign.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m certain your vivid imagination will be put to use this evening.”

 

 

*****

 

  


Laura’s cheeks were still hot when Remington escorted her to the dining room.  They were seated together near Lord Brighton on this final evening, to the applause of the wedding guests.  He held up his glass as the footmen began serving the first course.  “To Lord and Lady Remington, may their future be blessed with happiness.”

“To Lord and Lady Remington,” the others echoed.

 

By the time dinner ended two hours later, she was stuffed to the brim.

The minister intercepted them as they made their way into the ballroom.  “My felicitations to the pair of you.  Daniel tells me you’ve known each other for quite a while.”

“Almost four years,” answered Laura.

“And more than twenty thousand miles if you consider Acapulco, Ireland, London, two trips to Malta, and various jaunts into the countryside.  Although we have yet to make it to Catalina,” quipped Remington.

The minister chuckled.  “That’s a healthy break-in period.  Lady Remington, I thought I might request a dance later this evening.  Not the opening, of course.”

Laura curtsied.  “I would be honored.”

The candlelit ballroom was filled with greenery and clusters of flowers echoing the variety in the little bouquet she carried and the blooms in her hair.  Beeswax mingled with gardenias and other fragrant blossoms to create a rich aroma that added to the magic of the room.  At Lord Brighton’s direction, Remington led her into the center of the floor.  The orchestra opened with a waltz, and they began to move in unison.

“We haven’t danced since New York,” she said softly.

“No.”  Remington pulled her a little closer to lead her into a series of spins across the dance floor.  “Promise me something, Laura.”

She leaned back in surprise.  “I can’t remember your ever asking me for a promise—of any kind.”

“That’s because I believe they rarely can be kept.”

“Yet, you ask one of me.”

“I do.”

“What is it?”

“That we will take one day a week, it doesn’t matter which one, exclusively for us.  No cases, no interruptions.”

“No Mildred?”

He grinned.  “We’ll find her someone to date.”

“You’re asking a great deal, Mr. Steele.  The agency has always come first.”

“I know.”

Laura fell silent while she delved into the meaning of his request.  He was asking her to do something on a regular basis that she’d only done a handful of times before—to put him, and their relationship, before the agency.  Part of her balked at the idea; yet, she realized that to move forward it was a necessary step.  She had to be willing to put off pursuing a case in favor of having a personal life—if she wanted one.

“I love my work, Mr. Steele.”

“I know, Laura.”

“But I love dancing with you too.”

He took that as an invitation to twirl her once more before settling into a more sedate sway.

“I can’t promise a particular day.  Our flexibility is part of what makes us successful.  But what I can promise is that I won’t use the agency as a barrier between us anymore.”

“You’re admitting to that?”

“You caught me in a good mood.”

“Then I’ll have to do my damnedest to keep you that way.”  He brushed his lips across hers.

“I can think of something that might work,” she whispered suggestively before pressing her mouth to his.

His hand tightened at her waist.  “How long do we have to stay here?”  Laura leaned her head back and laughed as he spun her in another circle on the dance floor.

 

She dutifully took a turn with each of the men, including the minister and Lord Brighton.  Daniel took the next waltz, and Laura was reminded of the first time she’d confronted him all those years ago.  But this time, they didn’t speak for nearly the whole of the dance.

“Still mad at me?” he asked at last.

“Some.”

“Good.”

“Why is that good?” she asked with suspicion.

“Because you’re always at your finest when you are, Laura.”  He bowed and led her off the dance floor where Lord Brighton waited with Remington, and then he disappeared.

“Lord and Lady Remington, I’ve a souvenir for you.  A remembrance of this lovely day,” Lord Brighton stated.  He had a register and a scroll of parchment in one hand and a quill pen in the other.  “If you’ll add your names to others who have been ‘wed’ here and sign the certificate,” he winked at Laura, “then we’ll always have a record of the delightful entertainment this week.

Daniel arrived at her elbow with two glasses of champagne just as Lord Brighton unrolled the certificate onto a table laden with food.  It kept rolling up, and Daniel waited patiently for her to sign her name on the line.  When she finished, he handed her a glass, and she glanced at the register where her “husband” had signed “Lord and Lady Remington.”

Remington took his turn at the scroll, then handed over the pen and paper to Lord Brighton with a grin.  “Come, my lady; I believe it’s time we took our leave.”

Lord Brighton nodded.  “I’ve prepared the cottage and taken the liberty of moving your personal possessions there.  The carriage awaits to take you there and will return in the morning before breakfast—a late breakfast before everyone departs.  Then you may have the place to yourselves until Sunday afternoon.

The other guests sprinkled the two of them with rose petals as they ascended the carriage and rode away in the moonlight.

“They’ll be carousing until the wee hours.”

“Oh good, I’ll be able to get some uninterrupted sleep,” teased Laura.

He merely arched a brow in return.  “Keep thinking that, Miss Holt.”

  


 

But once Laura actually stood in the cottage, she shivered.  Not from a lack of warmth, for the fireplaces in each room heated the space nicely, but from anticipation and a little unease.  As always, Remington read her like a book.  He poured a glass of wine for each of them from a bottle stuffed in an enormous basket and handed it to her.  “Hungry?  Brighton left enough food here for a small army.”

“Ah, no.”  Annoyed with herself for being tense, she tried to shake off her mood and put a smile on her face as she took the wine and sipped.

“Then perhaps, we can get comfortable, dress in our own clothing even, and sit by the fire a while.”

“Um, that’s a good idea.”

Remington kissed her temple and then retreated to the couch near the fire.  “It’s a game, Laura.  One I imagine is touching a bit too close to home.”  He stared into his own glass as he propped his feet on the low table.  “We’re not married; we’re not affianced—although we are committed.  And for once we have a bit of privacy in a romantic setting.  We’re not going to spoil that now, are we?”

His pained tones made her smile for real.  “I feel like a fraudulent virgin on her wedding night.”

Remington choked on the wine he’d just sipped, then burst into laughter.  “I imagine the six layers of white lace aren’t helping matters in that regard?”  

“Not in the least.”  With his usual good humor lighting up the room, Laura could see the absurdity of the whole scenario, and her own mood brightened.  “Can you help me out of this thing?”

“Of course.”  With his clever fingers, Remington plucked at the strings of her gown until they came free.  Layer after layer came off until all she wore was a long chemise and her pantalettes, both delicately embroidered in blue flowers and somewhat resembling pajamas—if she could ignore the fact she hadn’t on any underwear at all.  The whole process hadn’t been the least seductive, yet the light tugs and brushes of his hands did all sorts of interesting things to her.  Without assistance, her mind began wandering down the path of temptation all by itself.  Remington suddenly seemed overdressed in the small cottage.

He added the last layer of her clothing to the stack on the chair, moving the wedding gown to the top so it wouldn’t crush.  “There.  You look more comfortable.”

“I am.  What about you?”

“I could use a bit of assistance.”

In a unique turnabout of the foreplay earlier in the week, Laura took her time divesting Remington of his clothing.  She let her fingers drift along the fabrics, enjoying the soft, crushed velvet, the smooth linen woven with silk, and the heavy buttons.

The tailcoat came off first, revealing the finer lines of his body as she drew it off his arms and laid it on the chair.  Reaching behind Remington, she unfastened the buckle of the brocaded silk waistcoat, then began working free the dozen or so buttons on the front.  She took her time, sliding her fingers along the inside edge as each one released.  The waistcoat and the suspenders—bracers, she corrected herself—joined the dress coat on the chair.

Laura rubbed one hand along the leather covering Remington’s thigh, savoring the feel of it.  For the first time since she began, his breathing changed.  She looked up.  His eyes had darkened, and she realized how much her touch affected him.

He still had on his cravat.  Delicately, she traced the folds to unravel the knot.

“Bugger it, Laura; I’ve seen you open presents quicker,” he complained.  She laughed, thinking about the session earlier in the week.  Turnabout was fair play.  But she didn’t go any faster.

When that long length of fabric would have joined the rest on the chair, Remington slipped it out of her hands and placed it over her eyes, tying it.  “Trust me.  It will only be for a moment.”  His lips fluttered across hers, leaving her wanting.

She heard his boots hit the floor, a rustling she assumed was the result of laying stockings across the chair, footsteps into the bedroom and back again.

“Mildred seemed taken with the minister,” he said, making casual conversation.

“She seems to be able to attract her own fair share of company these days.”

“That can only be a good thing.  Now—”  He stood behind her again and slipped the blindfold free. He’d carried all the bedding from the other room and laid it in front of the fireplace, making a soft nest of pillows and blankets.  Carrying both glasses of wine, he settled in place.  “Care to join me?”

“You, a fire, and wine?  Where are we—your condo?”

“It seems to work well enough.”

She started to sit.  And then remembered that the pantalettes she wore were not like sweatpants—not with a wide slit in a very delicate region.  Primly, she swung her legs to the side.

“Aw, Laura.”

She should have known he would have seen through her predicament.  “You were the one who stopped me from undressing you.”

In smooth tones, he offered, “I won’t stop you now.”

Sipping her wine, she replied dryly, “I didn’t imagine you would.”

He surprised her by lying on the blankets with his head near her lap.  The buttons holding the neck of his shirt together were still fastened and seemed like a good place to pick up where she’d left off.  She set the glass on the table behind her.  Bit by bit the dark hair underneath was revealed.  Remington never wavered in his gaze.  She slid a hand into the vee left by the opened buttons and caressed the warm flesh underneath.  Leaning over, she cradled a palm under his head and pressed her mouth to his.

His hand came up under her shirt to caress her spine, spreading tingles across her back.  Laura deepened the kiss, the cabernet mingling with his rich flavor.  The taste of him heated her senses until she simply had to have more.  She tugged at the waist of his shirt, and he sat up to pull it off over his head.

Laura had to remind herself that regular breathing was a requirement at the moment.  Remington didn’t have the beefy physique of a weightlifter.  Like a dancer, his muscles were long and lean, made for balance, speed, and agility.

She moved closer to taste his shoulder while he closed his arms about her.

 

 

*****  

 

  


Remington had produced dozens of versions of “How to Seduce Laura” in his head.  None of them involved an alternate theme: “How Laura Seduces Remington in One Take.”  This one had all the right elements: slow undressing, flirty touches, searing kisses.  She traced the hollow of his throat with her tongue, pressing him to the ground again as she did so.

He went willingly and began making wagers as to how long it would take her to divest him of the rest of his clothing.  She seemed interested in the fabric of his breeches.

“Leather?  Real leather?” she marveled.

The feel of her hand sliding along his buckskin-covered thigh made him groan.  The material wasn’t very thick, yet it seemed to magnify sensation.  Oh, bloody hell, if she places her hand—exactly where it landed.  She stroked lightly, then a little harder—somehow finding that exact most sensitive spot in spite of the leather.

He tried to keep his hands occupied by placing them behind his head, but when she stroked firmly along his length, he had to stop her.  “No, and we’re not doing that at the moment, or we’ll not have at this properly, m’ Laura.”  Irish sang through his words.  He only slipped when she had him tied in knots.

The wicked gleam in her eyes told him he’d done it again.  She lowered her mouth to heat the front of his breeches, biting lightly to increase the pressure.  Then she teased him by toying with the buttons, unfastening one, then letting her hand wander down again to play.

“Oh no, you don’t, my love.”  He lifted her hand away to nibble on her wrist while eyeing her dusky nipples through the thin fabric of her chemise.

She stilled—not from his touch, for her pulse was dancing wildly.

Something wasn’t right.  “Laura?”  He rewound the last two minutes in his head for a quick rescreening.  Ah.  “I don’t use endearments during sex as a matter of habit if that’s what you were wondering.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  I find they convey an intimacy I’ve not wanted to imply in the past.”

“And now?”  Laura seemed embarrassed by the question.

“And now they do.”  He didn’t want her to think about it too much—nor did he.  To distract her, he began pulling the pins holding the flowers in her hair.  One by one, he placed them on the blanket between them until he had a pile of white blossoms.  Then he pulled the other pins so her hair fell to her shoulders.

 

 

*****

 

  


Laura didn’t want to think about the implications of Remington’s admission.  If she did, she might hide in a closet with an entire box of chocolate.  Fortunately, there was a great deal to distract her at the moment.  With each tug and brush of his fingers in her hair, she let little things like thinking take a farther hike into the woods.

At last, he raked his hand through her freed locks and kissed her thoroughly.  Until now, they had been teasing, playing with each other in a physical way.  Now the mood shifted as he demanded her participation, threatening to take control unless she pushed back.

She did.  With determination, she matched his kiss and raised it with a teasing flicker of her tongue to his that had him groaning into her mouth.  Breaking away, she moved to his ear, tugging on the lobe with her teeth.  In turn, he lifted the edge of her chemise, drew it over her head and set it aside.  

With a new timbre in his voice, he said, “Laura, I want to touch you.”

She bit her lip.  “I think you already are.”

He shook his head in frustration.  “I want you, here, lying in front of the fire.  I want to see you, Laura.  I’ve—”  He broke off as she eased down to the blankets, finding them thick and oh-so-soft.  The light from the fire washed over her skin.

Remington stretched out beside her to test the softness of her skin with his fingertips, tracing freckles here and there.  Laura closed her eyes to focus on his caresses. She was surprised where he touched first: the curve of her waist, the rim of her belly button, and a long line down her sternum.  “So beautiful,” was all he said.

Without the slightest bit of encouragement or chill in the air, Laura opened her eyes to discover her nipples peaking all by themselves in anticipation.  Remington noticed, of course, and began brushing a tip, making it stiffen even more.  Then he circled it with his tongue, and she inhaled swiftly as pleasure sparked--then jolted through her—when he suckled.

 

 

*****

 

  


Remington adored breasts.  Especially small ones, sprinkled in cinnamon and topped with sugar.  He liked how they tasted, soft flesh made hard.  He still marveled that this lovely duet belonged to his partner, and she was allowing him to play.  Allowing?  Hmm.  Not the right word, for she was holding his head with one hand and arching backward into the covers.

Perhaps this would be a good time to discover what other secrets she might have.  A sample brush of his fingers along the slit in her pantaloons turned out to have delightful consequences.

The daze in Laura’s eyes told him everything he needed to know.  She sucked in her breath as he slid a single finger along her heat, setting up a slow rhythm that made her tremble.  When he lowered his lips to the nearest breast once more, the dual points of contact proved to be her breaking point.  She hovered on the brink of ecstasy.

But just as yesterday morning, again he could see her struggling not to give in to the sensations.

He could have pushed her over—yet, he didn’t.  There was something in the way she fought it that bothered him.  Instead, he retreated—only to have her turn the game on end.  Laura wasted no time loosening the buttons on his breeches this time.  He took the hint and stood to yank them off—stealing a drink from his wine glass while he watched Laura shake off the last of her clothing.

She seemed impatient, reclining backward with just enough of a part to her legs to send an invitation he dared not refuse.  But he would take his time in this.  He crawled over her, not touching her with anything except his lips to hers until she used her hands to pull him down.  At the same time, she parted her legs so he rested there.  He throbbed, pulsing with need.  But he waited, letting the tension build between them.

 

 

*****

 

  


He was driving her insane.  “Remington?”

“Yes, Laura?”

“I know it’s been a while for each of us, but I think there’s more to it than this.”

“You want me to ‘press on,’ so to speak.”

“That would be nice, yes.”

He flexed his hips, widening her sheath as he filled the entrance with the tip of his shaft.  “A bit like that, eh?”

Laura closed her eyes.  “Yes, I think so.”  She skimmed hands down his back.

He pressed in an inch or so and halted.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed.

And so he didn’t.  He began slow, controlled movements that took him a little deeper on each stroke.  Laura figured out his technique four in but wasn’t interested in arguing with the results.  She lost count when he immersed himself fully and stayed there while she shivered.

Remington somehow shifted to his knees, taking her with him. With her hips elevated, he was able to brush his thumb over the tight knot at her center while keeping himself deep inside her passage.  He teased; he circled; he tapped lightly until she writhed from his touch.

“Remington,” was all she could say.  She was drowning.  He’d coaxed her body into giving up its secrets, and now she twisted and turned while he held her firmly atop his shaft and played with her slippery pearl.

She felt herself coming apart, giving into the sensations Remington was creating.  Without thinking much about what she was doing, she brushed his hands away and tried to regain some kind of control over her own body.

“Laura?”

She dragged open heavy lids, confused by the calm way he spoke.

“Do you trust me?”

“I do,” she panted.

“Then let go,” he coaxed.

It was only then she realized that—out of pure instinct—she was still trying to hold some small part of herself away from him—even in this incredibly intimate moment.  With concentrated effort, she laid her hands above her head.

“Oh bugger me,” he muttered, his eyes glazing as he skimmed his hands along her body.  He leaned over—and into her.  He began moving again in that controlled pace but quicker now.  She spun out of control, hit her peak and gasped in shock.  He didn’t stop this time.  Sliding one arm under the small of her back, he thrust hard and fast, keeping her climax going as he found his.  With a shout and a groan, Remington buried his face in her hair—the sensation of his orgasm prolonging hers.

Laura wrapped a leg around his hip, panting for breath in his shoulder.  No, the first time hadn’t been a fluke.  The sex really was that good.

 

 

*****

 

  


He was sure the Cheshire cat had nothing on his grin.  In pure masculine satisfaction, he watched Laura fall into a light doze before they’d even separated.  He eased down beside her, keeping her leg over his hip as he adjusted.  She only grumbled a little and turned her head to lean against his chest, one hand curled under her cheek, the other resting between them.

She still wore both rings, one on each hand.  With the skill only a canny pickpocket should have, he plucked the betrothal ring from her right hand and settled it on her left, over the wedding band.  He didn’t want her getting used to wearing it on the wrong finger.

Satiated in far more than just the body, Remington drew covers over them and closed his eyes.

 

 


	8. Saturday

The cool air left by the dying fire woke Laura sometime in the dark of morning. Oh, her backside was warm enough. Remington had sealed his body to hers and draped a possessive arm around her waist. She supposed she would have to get used to it. Given their long association, she suspected her days of sleeping alone had come to an end.

With quiet grace, she sat up in the nest of blankets they’d made, shivering a little as she left the warmth, to add wood to the fireplace. She stirred up the coals and set a piece of kindling aflame. The dry wood caught, growing in light and heat until she basked in both. Satisfied with the fire, she settled down into the blankets. Remington adjusted, placing his hand on her belly this time. She glanced over, but his eyes were still closed.

She frowned at the two rings on her left hand. Remington had plucked the emerald ring from one finger and moved it to the other. Periodically, he showed off his street skills by nipping jewelry off her person or slipping things out of her purse. She was faster at detecting the loss, but she hadn’t caught him yet.

She wondered what exactly he meant to convey to her. Marriage hadn’t ever been something they’d discussed—neither in theory nor as it pertained to their relationship. Although, as she thought about it, he’d been fascinated by the idea of children more than once and had a deep respect for Donald and Frances. 

Still, in spite of the silliness of the week and Daniel’s antics, she and Remington had crossed a Rubicon of their own—and not the one in the bedroom. Instead of brushing off the anger with a wink and a smile, this time they’d had honest resolution. They had been inching ever closer to that sort of communication in the past year. They’d even—

“Laura?” Remington’s sleepy voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Turn off your pretty brain. It’s not time to get up.”

She wiggled over until she faced him. “How did you know I was awake?”

“I know what you sound like when you’re asleep.”

“Oh, really?” She slid a leg across his hip and inched yet closer. “How do I sound when I’m aroused?” She added a layer of sultriness to her voice.

“About like that.”

“Gonna do something about it?”

“Perhaps I can be persuaded.”

“I didn’t think you needed persuasion in this matter.”

“Probably not. Merely an invitation will do.”

“Consider yourself invited.”

“That I can do.”

The warmth of the fire had nothing on the heat they generated between them. And this time, there was no hesitation when Remington took Laura over the edge.

*****

A last quick interlude in the morning led to the pair of them trying to wedge themselves into the microscopic shower stall. But in spite of three bumped elbows and a critical miss, they managed to wash under the hot spray.

Dressing in period costume for what Laura dearly hoped was the last time was far more fun with Remington playing her maid. She certainly liked being his valet, especially when she discovered he went commando under the breeches.

“Why didn’t I know this?” she demanded.

“Because you didn’t need any more ammunition, my lovely Laura.” He removed her hands from the leather and kissed her. “There’s a bit of room in the front but not much that wouldn’t be noticed by all the other guests.

“Seems like the fabric would cause its own sort of amusement.”

“There is that,” he admitted as he finished tucking in his shirt tails.

 

The carriage arrived promptly at ten. Breakfast was in full swing when they arrived in the dining room. To cheers and wry jests, they took their seats. Mildred had joined them as Lord Brighton’s personal guest. Anthony sat at the far end and flirted with Lady Tate while Daniel took the opposite side. 

Laura didn’t like the way he looked. The pallor she’d noted two days ago hadn’t left his face; she hoped it was the result of too much indulgence last night and not a symptom of his current state. But she knew it wasn’t likely.

After breakfast, the guests began departing the manor. By noon, only Daniel, Mildred, Remington and she remained. Laura asked Mildred to walk with her in the gardens, hopefully giving Daniel and Remington a little time together. At this point, she didn’t really expect Daniel to be honest with his son, but she wanted to him to have every opportunity before it was too late.

She had a hand on the door when she heard Remington’s angry voice coming from above. Exchanging a worried look with Mildred, they both turned to quietly climb the stairs and listen outside Daniel’s room.

“I can’t sign this, Daniel.”

“It seems to me this would solve all your problems.”

“For how long? I can’t con Laura into marriage. It would destroy everything.”

“Why not? She’s been using you to make her look good all these years. Seems like a small price for her to pay. It’s only for a couple of years at the most.”

“It’s not like that. I … care for her. A great deal.”

“Do you love her?”

Remington gave a bitter laugh. “What does our kind know about love? But I know bloody well she’s not using me.” The conviction in his voice heartened her even as she hurt over his own self-doubt.

“Then whatever are you two waiting for?”

“All Laura has ever needed is time.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’d thought … I know a girl, Clarissa—she’s the hiring kind—and might be willing to go through a quick marriage and divorce. Laura wouldn’t have to know. I’d be able to give her all the time she needs.”

In utter disbelief, Laura fired a dark look at Mildred, then slapped open the door. “Now that is the most monumentally stupid idea I’ve ever heard from you.”

Remington closed his eyes in dismay. “It’s a bit complicated.”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning and work your way up to the altar?” she spat out.

He sighed. “That consulting contract you arranged with Vigilance Insurance?

“What about it?

“It didn’t sit too well with our old friend, Norman Keyes. It seems he took offense at having to report to me on important cases.”

“I don’t hear any wedding bells yet.” Laura knew she was being snotty—but really? Clarissa? A hooker? Was that the best solution he had?

“Being a petulant prig, he informed immigration that I was in the country illegally. Look. I know you were only trying to help when you gave me that passport in the name of Remington Steele, Laura—”

She narrowed her eyes. His stab was a direct retaliation for her earlier cheap shot. “Wait a minute. Are you implying that somehow this is all my fault?”

“Don’t punish yourself, Laura,” he quipped, in a lame attempt at a joke. “I bear you no grudge.”

Not amused, she exploded. “You were stranded in London! A man without a country! That passport got you back into the United States, you lousy ingrate!”

“Laura—Laura, it’s very sweet of you to apologize, but there’s no need. The important thing is that I need to get back to Los Angeles and make all the arrangements.”

She closed her eyes in utter fury.

“Laura, please,” he pleaded. “You don’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. If I’m not married to an American citizen by six o’clock Friday evening, I’m going to be thrown out of the country.”

“So you’re going to waltz down the aisle with the Happy Hooker?”

“Laura, please, this is no time to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous; I’m angry. Can’t you tell the difference?”

“Why are you angry? I’m the one who’s being deported.”

Reigning in her temper, she said firmly, “For some cock-eyed reason, I expected less of you.”

She had him cold, and he asked in confusion, “Less? Less, less, less what?”

“Less trickery, less deceit, less of everything that makes me doubt your feelings for me.” 

The panic on his face almost made her laugh—except that the situation didn’t warrant it under any circumstances. “Laura, look; how could I have asked you to be part of a ploy? A scam? An arrangement?”

“So you’re shopping around?” she retorted.

He threw up his hands and stalked across the room. “All right. Stupid idea. Once I’m settled somewhere, will you visit me occasionally? With these excursion fares, you can travel practically anywhere in the world for around ninety-nine dollars.”

When he lapsed into silence, Laura put her hands on her hips. “That’s it? You’re just giving up?” She spun around to Daniel. “You’re the Duke of Deception. Think of something!”

“I did. Harry took exception to it.” He held out an embellished sheet of paper.

“What’s that?”

“Your marriage certificate.” 

Taking it, she glanced down at the paper she only vaguely remembered signing in the chaos last night. She gave him a wry smile; with all the pandemonium of the week, maybe it would make a nice memento one day. Glancing down at the bottom, she saw her own signature and that of Daniel Chalmers and Harold Lindermann as witnesses. The groom’s line remained conspicuously blank

She frowned. “Why did you sign this as a witness? What is going on?”

Daniel answered, tapping the top of the certificate. “Because this is a legal document, my dear Laura.”

Now she focused on the title at the top of the page. Marriage License—State of Nevada. She stared at him. “How— This can’t be legal. There are laws.”

“Yes, Laura,” he patiently explained. “I lifted both of your driver’s licenses and paid a happy couple to pose as you two to get the marriage license in Reno. We’re in Nevada, so blood tests and waiting periods aren’t required. The minister last night was quite real, and the wedding and vows you said were equally genuine. There’s only one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“You signed the marriage certificate. Harry only pretended to sign it. And unless I can get his signature on the damned thing, the whole marriage will be invalidated.”

“Were you in on this?” She turned on Remington.

But Daniel stopped her from going any further. “Harry didn’t figure it out until last night. You signed first, remember?”

“Is this true?” she demanded. Remington nodded as he jammed his hands into his pockets. Laura could see the smoldering fury in his eyes. As angry as she was at the deception, she checked herself when she realized his anger was fully directed at Daniel. “Is that what you were arguing about?” she asked in wonder.

“Bloody hell, Laura, I’m not about to go behind your back and marry you without your knowledge. I might be stupid, but I’m not a buggering idiot.”

“It would have solved everything for you,” she said softly.

He looked away, holding his hands up in defeat—unable to answer.

Daniel did it for him. “He didn’t sign it because he loves you, Laura.”

She glanced between the two men—seeing the truth on Remington’s face and the absolute confidence in Daniel’s. “Why, Daniel? Why this elaborate charade?”

“I want what is best for my boy, Laura. In this case, turns out it’s you.”

“But don’t you think this sort of thing is best left up to the two of us? We were making progress.”

“Laura, Harry doesn’t know how to be in a relationship. He hasn’t seen anyone stay in love for more than a few months at a time. I didn’t want to take the chance that he would walk away from something he couldn’t recognize. Or that you might give up on him.”

“Remington is doing just fine, Daniel. I don’t want to change him. He’s exactly what I need in a partner.”

“But what about a lover, Laura? Hmm?”

“That’s between the two of us, don’t you think?”

“If I left it up to the two of you, it would be another four years before you managed to make it to the bedroom.”

Laura leaned in until she was nose to nose with the older man. “Then you are too late, Daniel. We managed that part all by ourselves. And yes, Remington is exactly whom I want in a lover. You want to know a real secret? Remington isn’t the one who has been holding us back. I am. I love him so damned much it would tear me apart if he ever left.” Remington shot a surprised look at her, but she ignored it and continued to rant at Daniel. “I’ve known this since the day we met—yet Remington has given me the time and space to come to terms with that.”

She backed up a step. “This wasn’t your call to make, Daniel. It was ours.”

The silence that descended over the room lay like a heavy blanket. Daniel coughed once to clear his throat. “I beg your forgiveness. I only did what I thought was best. I’ll leave you two alone to determine your course of action.”

Laura ignored him, keeping her place in the doorway. Focusing on Remington, she asked, “Then what was the business with the rings?” 

He swept his eyes over their audience, but she didn’t care who heard his answer. 

“I’d hoped you would wear the emerald ring--either as an engagement ring or as a gift. Perhaps we could get used to the idea of working together and being a couple. As I told Daniel, I only want to give you time. We’ve been doing well enough lately.”

Laura slapped the marriage certificate against Remington’s chest. “Then sign it so we’ll have all the time we need.”

 

While Daniel and Mildred chased down Mr. Lindermann to make certain the marriage certificate was filed by the minister, Laura leaned her forehead against the bubbled windowpane. Her initial instinct was to flee home and file for an annulment. But was that really what she wanted? 

They had solved their immediate problem anyway. “I can’t wait to tell Keyes we’re married,” she said lightly.

“He’ll certainly have his knickers in a twist.” Remington’s reply was almost automatic. When Laura saw his face, she recognized the blank expression as the one he wore whenever he was the most upset.

And in realizing how well she did know him, she had her answer. 

“I don’t know how to be married,” she said in chagrin. 

His eyes shifted to meet hers.

“Donald and Frances are the only example I have. I love them, but I don’t think I’ll make a good housewife,” she admitted. “Maybe not even a good mother. I’m difficult, probably a nightmare to actually live with, can’t cook worth a damn, and I work all the time because I like it.” She began pacing in the small room. “I only make my bed on the weekends or when I know I’m having company. I balance my checkbook twice a month. I sleep on the left side of the bed, wake up to rock music and sing while I’m in the shower. I talk to my mother twice a week and usually hang up in a bad mood because she thinks I’m shriveling up like an old maid. Frances and I go to lunch once a month to catch up. I try to go to all of my nieces’ and nephew’s school events, but if I make one each a year, I’m doing well. I—”

Remington caught her around the waist. “It’s all right, Laura. I won’t hold you to this.” His features were contorted, as if he were in great pain.

“No.” She tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling. “That’s not what … I want.”

He stilled. “What do you want?”

“I want you to know me and still want to be with me.”

Dumbfounded, his lips moved hungrily across hers as his hands clutched her head. “I know all this, Laura. I know every bloody thing about you. I can live with all of it. I want to live with all of it.”

Hesitantly, he added, “I can’t sleep cold or eat bad food. I pay my bills whenever Mildred reminds me and hands me the checkbook. She balances my bank account and makes me put some of it in savings. I keep a spare passport and cash in an envelope taped to the underside of my bathroom drawer. I won’t go to bed without taking a shower. Occasionally, I have friends who pop up needing a bit of money, and I give it to them. I’ll stand anyone a good meal. I hate the holidays unless I’m spending them with you because I don’t know what to do on those days. I do like your family; charming your mother is one of my hobbies.”

Laura put a finger to his lips. “I know all that.”

“I’ll do the cooking,” he promised.

“I’ll wash the dishes,” she replied.

“Well now, that’s a better start than I’d expected.” He hugged her to him.

She kissed him lightly on the lips. “Stay here. I’ll go find Daniel so you two can make up.”

“Laura—”

“We have time. Daniel doesn’t,” she said enigmatically.

*****

Remington watched her go. Her cryptic parting comment left him uneasy. Moments later, Daniel walked into the room, carrying two snifters. He gave one to Remington. “I should apologize for the game; I do think it’s so much in my blood that I rarely know how to play it straight anymore.” The younger man nodded as he watched Daniel go to the window and sip. “There’s another game. A dry and droll one which doesn’t concern Laura or Lord Brighton.” He let out a sardonic laugh. “Do you remember when we first met? You were all of what, fourteen? You tried to pick my pocket.”

Remington raised an eyebrow. “I did pick your pocket.”

Daniel laughed for real this time. “I saw right then you had a rare talent. A bit unrefined, perhaps, but a talent nonetheless.”

“Well, you certainly polished it,” Remington admitted. Memories of those long-ago days surfaced.

Nodding, Daniel turned back to the window, and for the first time, Remington saw his mentor struggle to speak. “In all the years we’ve known each other, I’ve never told you about the most exquisite lady to ever grace my life. What she saw in me, I’ll never know. Unfortunately, I was too young to seize what might so easily have been mine.”

Not sure what to make of Daniel’s odd mood—the man had never been one to reminisce about anything other than an excellent con—Remington stayed quiet, listening.

“Instead, I tried to pull off the most wildly ambitious caper—and went to prison instead.” Daniel finally turned to look him in the eye. “While I was incarcerated, I learned she was with child. My child. She died giving birth.” He set his glass on the table and walked toward Remington. “The baby was put up for adoption. By the time I was released, I had no idea where he was. I wandered around for several years—aimlessly, really. Then one day, I suddenly realized I desperately wanted to find my son.”

His voice carefully neutral, Remington asked, “And, uh, did you find him?”

“Eventually.” Daniel slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a very familiar gold watch. “Do you remember when you told the Earl you suspected that your real father had stolen this watch?” Daniel waited a beat. “You were right, Harry.”

Remington laughed nervously as he took the watch; he didn’t want to hear this. “Come on, Daniel. What are you playing at?”

Daniel lifted his chin. “I’m afraid you can stop looking for your father.”

Fury flashed. “Why didn’t you tell me this twenty years ago?

“I wanted to. Believe me. A hundred times over. But by the time I found you, you’d built up so much hatred against your father that ... I thought it best to be your mentor instead.”

Clenching his jaw, Remington asked, “And why now?”

Stark pain flashed across Daniel’s face. “Let’s just say it’s time.”

The youthful rage he’d once known all too well spiked. Too angry to comprehend Daniel’s meaning, Remington spat out, “Oh, time? Oh, time, is it? Really? Time? After twenty years, you suddenly decide it’s time? Who in the bloody hell do you think you are to come waltzing in here and say to me after twenty years, ‘Here, my boy, here I am. I am your father. I have lived an aimless life. Here’s the watch.’ You selfish—” He tried to calm himself but failed. “For twenty years, I’ve tried to imagine who you are, where you were, what you did. Were you alive, were you breathing? And all that time, you were standing there in the flesh and blood, right beside me. My God!

“Here.” He pitched the watch. Daniel didn’t flinch as it hit him in the chest and fell to the floor. “You take your watch. I don’t want your watch.” He stalked out of the room, doing his best to tune out the tinkling sounds of an all-too-familiar Irish ditty.

*****

Remington stalked past Mildred in the hallway. She chased after him, catching up with him in the gardens.

“Boss, boss, wait a minute.” She slowed and caught a glimpse of his face. “Boss, you okay?”

He nodded. “Hm. Couldn’t be better. I’ve just had a birthday.”

“Come again?”

“My father breezed into my life.”

“Your father?”

“Gave me a sad story and gold watch.”

“Who?”

“I liked the gold watch better, actually.”

“For crying out loud, who are we talking about?”

“Daniel.”

“Daniel—” Her eyes widened. “Daniel Chalmers? Are you sure?”

“Mildred, of course I’m sure. Why are we having this stupid conversation? Why don’t you just go back and finish packing your things, okay?”

“Why aren’t you jumping for joy and passing out cigars?” she asked. “I mean, this is great news, isn’t it?”

“Oh yeah, it’s great,” he mumbled. “It’s really great news, indeed.” He turned as if to walk in the garden. “I mean—a little late—but it’s great news.” He bit his lip.

Mildred watched him. He didn’t like the way she seemed to see right through him. “You’re right,” she said at last. “He deserted you. He walked out. He left you high and dry when you needed him the most. He’s probably got some stupid story about why he did it. But he did it, and that’s what counts.”

Her words cut into him. He knew exactly what she was doing, but was helpless to stop her—and perhaps he didn’t want her to stop.

“So he came back. So what? Uh-uh. No, it’s too late, I say. You’ve gone this long without a father—hell, you can go the rest of your life without needing him. The little bum, who does he think he is wanting his son back after all these years? Oh no. Make him pay, kiddo—make him pay. He deserves it.”

He backed away, walking into the garden, when Mildred took grabbed his arm to stop him. “Oh, boss, boss, wait a minute.” He stopped. She gave him a knowing look. “Is this the way you want it to go down?”

She waited for him to reply. When he didn’t, she wandered off to the other side of the garden, giving him time to think.

*****

Laura was cooing to Sunrise, saying her good-byes, when Mildred found her in the stable. “Miss Holt?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s Mrs. Steele now. Or maybe it’s Mrs. Holt-Steele. Who knows?” She turned and caught Mildred’s distress. “What’s the matter?”

“Did you know Daniel is Mr. Steele’s father?” Mildred demanded.

“Since Wednesday.” A small hope rose in her. “Does Mr. Steele know?”

“Yeah, they had words. The boss is pretty upset.”

Laura gave Sunrise one last caress and made haste to the manor house.

*****

Remington heard Daniel coughing long and hard as he stood outside his father’s door. He realized that he’d been hearing that cough for over a year now and hadn’t dreamed Daniel might be ill. He stepped into the doorway, almost lost his courage and turned to leave, then steeled himself and walked into the room with a smile.

“I remember the first time you bought that suit.” At the sound of his voice, Daniel turned around with relief clear on his face. “You used it to con that poor salesman into flying you all around the States, gratis.”

Daniel played along. “Ah, but it was my faithful servant who reassured the hapless fellow that I was thinking of purchasing the plane.”

“The fuel costs alone must have been astronomical,” Remington commented drolly.

“What about the time we parted that loathsome limey—” He snapped his fingers.

“Hoskins,” Remington supplied.

“Hoskins, from his ill-gotten gains.”

“Not only that, but we proved he was a murderer to boot.”

“By my untimely death, if memory serves me.” Daniel grinned.

Remington took a pair of steps, closing the distance between them. “Do you remember the time you posed as a colonel in the Royal Hussars? Do you remember that one?”

“What about the time that you passed yourself off as the heir to a duke’s fortune?”

“Or you as an ambassador?”

“Or you as a prince?”

“Or you—oh, never mind. There are too many. Too many.”

“Oh, Harry,” Daniel sighed happily. He opened his arms and Remington stepped into his hug. Things were right between them again. “Oh, dear, dear me. We’ve really shared some good times, haven’t we?”

“The best.”

“I’ve always thought of you as the father I never really had.”

Daniel suddenly dropped his smile but said, “Well, I believe this calls for a toast.”

Remington turned, grateful to have something to do. “Where’s the wet stuff?” He spied it on a dresser. As he picked up the bottle, he asked, “Uh, now that the cat’s out of the bag—perhaps there is something you can finally tell me.” He laughed lightly as he poured. “Lord knows Laura’s been bothering me enough about it all these years. What I’d like to know is—” He picked up the drinks and carried them over to where Daniel had sat in one of the upholstered chairs. “What is my real name?” He held out a glass.

When his father didn’t answer, Remington’s smile fell. “Daniel?” He took in the slackened jaw, the limp limbs and the chest that no longer rose and fell. Numbly, he sat on the bed, still holding both glasses.

Later, he couldn’t have said when or how she managed it. He only knew that, somehow, Laura was there.


	9. Fallout

The remainder of the afternoon became a stuttered haze—bright moments of clarity in a mostly horrible day that Laura would prefer to later forget.  Mildred handled some of the unpleasantness—contacting the coroner’s office and making immediate arrangements for Daniel’s body.  Laura did the rest, including making the difficult phone call to the Earl of Claridge to explain why Daniel wouldn’t be returning home on Sunday. 

She discovered that not only had the two men become fast friends in the preceding nine months, but the Earl had known of Daniel’s illness and offered a final resting place for his friend on his estate.

Remington kept vigil with Daniel until the coroner arrived.  Afterward, he insisted on packing his mentor’s things himself.

Laura tried not to hover.  She and Mildred exchanged period costumes for their own clothing and packed up their luggage before carrying Remington’s garment bag back to the manor house.  She found her partner still in Daniel’s room with a suitcase full of clothing on the bed and pile of pill bottles next to it.

“You knew,” he accused as soon as she walked into the room.  He held the gold watch in his hand.

Carefully sitting on the edge of the bed, she nodded.  “Yes.  I found out on Wednesday.  I’d searched Daniel’s room looking for clues as to why he wanted you here.  I discovered both the pills and the watch.”

“And you didn’t tell me.”  His jaw whitened as he clenched his teeth.

Laura stared down at hands she’d stuffed between her knees.  “I wanted Daniel to tell you himself.  As long as he was alive, it wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“You would have told me when he died?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.  “Probably.  Maybe.”  She changed her mind.  “Maybe not if all it was going to do was hurt you.”

“I see.  It’s all right to keep secrets then.  I’ll keep that in mind for future reference,” he retorted.

Laura pressed her lips together, doing her damnedest not to say anything damaging.  She forcibly reminded herself that Remington had just lost his closest friend, if not his father.  “I wasn’t trying to keep it from you.  I wanted you to hear it from Daniel.”

“So where in the bloody hell does that leave me now?  I have to bury a father, not a friend.  One who’s been ill for a bloody long time and didn’t bother telling me.  I thought better of you, Laura.  I thought we were past this sort of thing.  Aren’t you always harping that that we need to talk—to share things?  Yet you would keep something like this from me?”

Her face paled as she rose unsteadily to her feet.  “I did what I thought was right.  I’m sorry, Remington.”  She walked to the door, intending to give him space to grieve.

“Laura.”

She paused, looking back over her shoulder.  The anger was gone from him, leaving only a bleak sadness.  Unsure of what he wanted, she waited until he held out a hand. Laura took it, wrapping her arms around him as she closed the distance between them.

  


 

 

While Daniel’s body was flown to London that night, the three detectives returned to Los Angeles.  Uncharacteristically, Remington stayed quiet during the flight.  Laura and Mildred made small talk as they worked out arrangements for the coming week. Once in L.A., Fred retrieved them in the limo, dropping Mildred at home first before delivering the newlyweds to Remington’s flat.

It wasn’t the romantic homecoming she’d briefly entertained that morning.  Her new husband headed straight for the shower without saying a word.  Laura set her tote down, wondering what to do.  The kitchen didn’t provide many alternatives.  After a week, even Remington’s larder was bare.  She wasn’t interested in a glass of wine; it seemed out of place at a time like this.

She ended up on the terrace staring across the road into the dark trees of Hancock Park.  Remington’s easy smile when he came out startled her.  Hair damp, freshly shaven and wearing only a loose pair of silk loungers, he made a delicious picture entirely at odds with the events of the day.

“Going to stay with me tonight?” he asked, his voice humming with sensuality.  He trailed fingers along her arm in a sultry caress.

Not knowing what to make of his good humor, she played along.  “I’d planned on it.”

“Excellent choice, Mrs. Steele.  Or is that Mrs. Holt-Steele?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Do.  Care to join me in the whirlpool?”

Laying a hand on his chest, she searched his face for signs of distress.  Finding none, she gave a slight shake to her head.  “We don’t have to do this, Remington.”

So smoothly she didn’t see it coming, he lifted her into his arms.  “Quite the contrary, my lovely.”  He carried her through the bedroom door and into the bathroom, where the Jacuzzi bubbled with steaming water.  

Disconcerted by his firm suppression of concern for the day’s events, Laura again tried to elicit the expected emotions from him.  “Remington, today was—”

“Today is over,” he interrupted, laying a finger over her lips.  “Now we have tonight.  And we will only have this night once, Laura.”

Unwilling to press further, she tugged her blouse over her head.

 

Sex in a shower wasn’t a new concept to Laura.  Sharing a tub was.  She rested against Remington’s chest while the hot water swirled around them.  He trailed a thick, soapy washcloth over her shoulders and breasts.  The intimacy of the movement made her tense.

“Relax, Laura,” Remington coaxed.

“I’m trying; I’m trying.”

“Do you not like it?”

“I do,” she insisted.

“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

She smiled a little.  “I’m used to bickering with you, not bathing with you.”

He dipped the washcloth in the water and squeezed it out over her soapy skin, rinsing it clean.  “We can do both if you’d like.”

“It might be easier.”

“Then have at it.  What particular shortcoming of mine irritates you at the moment?”

Something about his humor washed away her tension.  With a devilish grin, she reached back to caress a delicate portion of his anatomy.  “Oh, I don’t think it’s very short at the moment.”

“But it’s irritating you?”  His voice shifted into a lower octave while he laid the cloth on the side of the tub.

“It’s poking me in the back,” she teased.

Now his slick hands dipped under the water to slide along her belly and the inside of her thighs.  “Ah.  Perhaps I can find another place for it.”

“What do you have in mind?  I might not like it.”

“Well, first I can do this.”  He feathered his middle finger along the folds of her inner flesh.

“There’s an idea,” she said—a little breathy, which made him laugh.

“Like that, huh?”  He found her center and tapped until she began breathing hard.  In the meantime, he shifted her legs so they straddled his, leaving her exposed to the bubbling of the water.  Laura’s eyes nearly crossed with the sensuality of it all.

“I do—but you’re still poking me,” she ground out.

He chuckled.  “I seem to do that.  Let’s try this.”  He lifted her in the water just enough to settle her over his erection.

Intellectually, Laura knew sex was possible in this position.  The reality of it was nothing like she’d ever anticipated.  She was entirely open to his touch.  As he swirled a finger over her center, she arched backward—which only pressed her down harder onto his thick arousal.  He didn’t even have to move much to bring her to a fast orgasm.  The bubbles, his finger and his body did all that.

When she recovered enough to breathe, he did it again.  This time, she gasped out his name and pulled his hands away as the sensation became too much to bear.

But he wasn’t done yet.  He tugged her back toward him so that her head lay on his shoulder.  The heat between them made the water seem uncomfortably hot all of a sudden.  He moved, sliding in and out in a steady tempo.  The water splashed under the bubbles, dampening her face.

He didn’t touch her now—just let motion push her towards another crescendo.  As she approached it, he shortened his thrust, pressing hard and deep.  She broke, climaxing hard around him.  He thrust once more before his own powerful orgasm took over the movement for the pair of them.  His hands held her hips in place until they both strained one final time before collapsing against the side of the Jacuzzi.

Laura let her head rest back against Remington’s shoulder.  He held her lightly about the waist, idly caressing her skin—and reminded her of an old conversation.

“So, Mr. Steele.  Was that ‘flesh?’ or ‘just flesh’?”

It took him a moment—then his belly rippled under her back as he laughed.  “A little of both, I think.”

“I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”

“For certain, Mrs. Steele.”

Laura rested her hand over his and floated in his embrace, thinking that it felt exactly right.

 

 

 

 


	10. London

Laura woke on Sunday to a tickling sensation on the back of her calves.  It took her a moment to identify it as Remington’s hands.  She rolled to her back, hoping to gather her thoughts before her lover found too many ways to distract her.  He wore only a boyish grin as he stretched out nude on the bed.

She tried to be appropriate.  She really did.  “Remington.  Is this ... is this what we should be doing?”

“Mrs. Steele, my lovely, have you forgotten we have only been married for thirty-six hours?  What else should we be doing?”

The words wouldn’t come.  Not wanting to spoil the day for either of them, she rolled out of bed.  “Eating.  I’m starving.”

He roared with laughter.  “That’ll do.  For now,” he promised with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

 

*****

  


Monday morning, they delivered birth and marriage certificates to the INS after filing the appropriate paperwork with the attorney general's office.  Then, after a trip to Laura’s loft so she could pack and another to the agency for a few last minute details, they caught a late afternoon flight to London.   

By the time they landed late Tuesday morning at Heathrow, Laura thought understood at last both the depths of Remington’s sorrow and the abilities he’d honed to perfection.  She’d had glimpses over the years of the con artist at work—enough to know he was extraordinarily gifted.  Since Saturday night, he’d donned an airtight mask of charm and affability.

She went along with it—and tried not to feel guilty about the amount of time they spent flirting and making love.

The Earl and Countess of Claridge met them at the airport—an unusual honor.  But even during the car ride, Remington’s demeanor never cracked.  He played the saddened son well and disclosed nothing about the previous week.  It was Laura who admitted they’d been married only four days when the Countess (a real countess!) commented on their wedding rings.  The Earl made quiet congratulatory noises while his wife gave Laura a sympathetic look.

 

*****

 

The funeral on Wednesday was incredibly small—only a scant double handful of people attended, mostly staff and family members of the Earl.

Laura pressed her lips tight in annoyance until Remington explained.  “Word will get around.  Tonight, at some pub or another, the others will lift a pint for Daniel.  It’s what we do, Laura.  Not go to a burial where the coppers are waiting for most of us.”

The “we” startled her.  She hadn’t realized that, at heart, Remington still thought of himself as the street kid dependant only on his own wits to survive the day.

The first chink in his façade appeared when he tried to give her the slip as night fell.  He interrupted her conversation with the Countess after dinner to tell her he was going for a long walk alone.  He might have gotten away with it, except that she’d been expecting something like this.

Once he left, the Countess handed her an old leather jacket and a cap for the drizzling rain.  “Be careful, Mrs. Steele.  Don’t stray from Mr. Steele.  If you need anything, call and someone can pick you up right away.  London can be a bit dodgy at night.”

“I think I remember that.”  Laura swiftly changed, then—via the servants—discovered which way Remington had gone.

She caught him as he put a hand on the taxi’s door handle.  “Going somewhere?”

He had the grace to look chagrined.  Dressed in a scarred leather coat of his own, dark corduroys and cap, the clothing made him look five years younger and a little rough around the edges.  “You can’t go where I’m going, Laura.”

“You have a choice.  I can go with you, or you can take a chance on my following you blindly through the streets of London.”  She crossed her arms and waited.

“Laura, these are the kind of people I don’t want knowing about you—about us.  It’s too bloody dangerous.”

In response, she slipped off her wedding rings and stuffed them into her front pocket.  “Fine.  We won’t be together.”  She dove into the cab before he could think up another argument.

He joined her with a muttered curse and gave her a quick assessment as the cab drove on.  “No one will mistake you for a local,” he told her.  Halfway through town, he asked the driver to stop at a small grocery store.  He returned with a small bag of cosmetics and a bottle of fragrance.  “You look and smell expensive, love.  They’ll be on you like flies.  Cheapen yourself up a bit.”

Laura smudged on a brighter eye shadow and a too-pink lipstick before spraying herself with the heavy floral scent that barely qualified as cologne.  “Better?”

“Hardly,” he said gruffly as he adjusted her collar and cap.  “Don’t talk much.  You don’t have the accent or the lingo; you’ll be marked as an outsider for certain.  I’d rather you changed your mind.  The taxi driver can take you back to the Earl’s.”

“Not a chance.  I might be out of my league here, but do remember I’m not stupid,” she said icily.

“If it wasn’t for that, you wouldn’t be here.”

  


The cabdriver dropped them at a seedy bar called Angel somewhere in the south side of London.  The dark street contrasted with the dull lights inside the ale and smoke-soaked pub where a startling number of folks had gathered to honor their old friend.  

Laura waited for Remington to exit the car, then had the cab circle the block and drop her off as well.  She mumbled a greeting at the door and began exchanging brave smiles with various folk as she searched for a corner with a good vantage point.  She hadn’t felt this out of place since crashing a party full of seniors in her first month of college at Stanford.  She did now what she did then: sidled up to the bartender, ordered whatever the person next to her was drinking and took a healthy swig.

The detective in her took note of relationships, power plays and roles in the ebb and flow of the crowd.  She kept an eye on Remington—not for signs of distress because that was pointless in his current state—but for old enemies with a bone to pick.

Each person seemed to have his own name for the man she’d married only days ago— “O’Leary,” “Mick,” “Michael,” “Harry”—or just a simple “mate” or “old boy.”  They greeted him as he shook hands, patted shoulders and grabbed someone in a quick bear hug.  He caught her eyes once as he noted her location, but otherwise ignored her.

Long after when she thought the bar was full, people kept trickling in.  Laura wondered how much the bartender had bribed the fire marshal to stay away.  Of course, the fire marshal could be the one steadily drinking pint after pint at the opposite end of the bar for all she knew.   

No one was more surprised than she when a stunning blonde stepped through the entrance.  She looked expensive—and probably smelled it too—Laura thought a little resentfully.  But, despite her glamour, there was no doubt she belonged here as well.  And that, Laura, is why she can get away with looking gorgeous in a place like this.

Felicia spotted her former lover, gracing him with a kiss and a hug that irritated Laura—less so when Remington didn’t allow the woman to linger at either one, though he kept a hand on her waist for a few minutes before excusing himself and moving on through the crowd.

Deprived of her initial target, it wasn’t long before Felicia zeroed in on Laura.  “Still keeping tabs on Michael?”

“Someone has to do it.”

“And it might as well be you?”  Felicia raised an eyebrow in a manner Laura had seen all too often.

Leaning in, Laura asked in all seriousness, “Did you two practice that?”

“What’s that?” the blonde asked in irritation.

“The arched eyebrow thing.”  Laura waved a finger at her own forehead.  “Remington does it all the time.”

Felicia colored—a first in Laura’s experience—before recovering in a pouty retort meant to imply much more.  “We did, actually.”

“Ah.  It’s effective.”  Laura sat back and sipped her beer, wondering what Felicia had in mind.

“Let me see it,” the other woman demanded.

“See what?”

“Your wedding ring.”

Laura kept her face impassive.  “What wedding ring?”

“That’s the third time you’ve used your thumb to stroke a ring that isn’t there.  Sorry, darling, but that’s a classic gesture for someone who’s used to wearing one and isn’t,” Felicia said smugly.  She pivoted to eyeball a certain handsome Irishman.  “Michael knows better, so he’s keeping his hand in his pocket so he won’t do the same.”

“We’ve been undercover for the past two weeks.  It’s what we do.”  The lie tripped off Laura’s tongue easily enough that Felicia paused, searching her face for deception.

“You’re very good, Lisa.  I almost bought that one.  Don’t worry.  I won’t tell your little secret.  Though I do wonder how you managed to lure him to the altar.”

Laura smirked for she hadn’t lured anyone anywhere.  “Now you presume too much.”  She waved toward a man standing on a chair, preparing to make a speech.  “Go mourn your friend, Felicia.  I don’t want to spar with you tonight.  It’s been an awful week.”

“Daniel meant a great deal to Michael.  And he was a good man at heart,” Felicia admitted quietly.

“I know.”

“Raise a glass, Lisa.  You’ve a right to it.”  The beautiful woman slipped off into the heart of the crowd, leaving Laura to watch her thoughtfully as the toasts began.

When the low light of dawn brightened the windows of the pub, the tired, drunken crowd of mourners left in ones and twos.  A few hours back, Laura had wedged herself into a corner near the bar so she could use the wall for a backrest.  She leaned her head against it as she watched the bartender wipe down the bar one last time while the last few stragglers shook hands and patted shoulders on their way out the door.  She could hear the click of glasses as someone washed them in the kitchen sink.

“Can I get ye anything else, miss?” the bartender asked.

“Oh, no.  I’ll go when my friend is done.”

“Harry is a good sort.”

She shook her head in weariness, annoyed that she’d given their association away.  “Yes.”

“Known him long?”

“A while.”

“From your accent I’d say you’re from America.  That makes you the detective he’s been hanging about these past few years.”

“You’re very good at this.”

“I know all the players, miss, and hear a lot of gossip.”

“I imagine you do.”

“I’ve never known Harry to have the sort of friend who would hang out at a bar all night long to do no more than watch his back.  Especially not a woman.”

Laura only smiled.  There wasn’t anything to say that wouldn’t give away more than she intended, and she was far too tired to be witty.

Breaking away from the last of the mourners, Remington came to stand beside her.  He held out a hand across the bar.  “Tommy, old boy, my thanks.”

“Anytime, mate."

“We settled up?”

“Aye.”

Remington turned to Laura.  She pursed her lips, thinking he looked good even with a layer of stubble and a missed night’s sleep.  But the shadows in his eyes were gone, along with the mask he’d worn since Saturday.  The curve to his lips was genuine and for her alone.  “Come on, love.  I think it’s time to go.”  Laura put her hand in his and slid off the barstool.

Tommy idly polished a glass.  “Your girl is somethin’ else, Harry.  A rare bird.  Kept an eye on you, she did.  Even did a pair of shots for Daniel and lifted her pint in a toast.  Didn’t pick a fight with your old girlfriend, nor did she flirt with the blokes who would have taken her home.”

Remington quirked his lips to Tommy.  “I know.”

“Bugger me,” the man said in wonder.  “Felicia had it right.  Congratulations.  Go home and be happy.”

“We will.”

 

Remington sagged in the back of the taxi with his cap drawn low to block the light.  Laura yawned hugely and made herself comfortable in the opposite corner—at least until he yanked her to him, sending her sprawling across him for a hot kiss tasting of beer, smoke and spicy maleness.

“Mr. Steele—”

He framed her face in his hands.  “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything except hold up a wall.”

“You were there.  For me.”

Laura only laid her head against his shoulder.

They staggered into the Earl’s home, showered together with predictable results, then tumbled into bed after Laura drew the heavy curtains shut, darkening the room in spite of the morning sun.  Surprisingly, Remington didn’t go right to sleep.  He lay next to her with his head propped on a hand and ran his fingers through her hair with the other.

It took her a moment before she understood.  She shifted, drawing him down so that his face rested on her shoulder—then pretended not to notice the hot tears dampening her skin.

  


Somewhere in the mid-afternoon, Laura and Remington found their way to Daniel’s freshly-turned grave.

“Only Daniel could end up being buried in an Earl’s family cemetery in the heart of London.  For the rest of history, there will be those perusing the names on the stones and wondering which branch of the family Daniel Chalmers came from,” Laura said lightly.

Remington nodded.  The sadness—real sadness this time—was apparent in his eyes.  “It’s the ultimate con.  He deserves nothing less.”

“You’re a good son.”  She patted his arm.

“I only wish I could have spent more time with him,” he said moodily.

“On the other hand, you spent twenty years with him.”

“Yeah.  Well, one thing’s for certain.  I’m not going to waste precious time showing people who are close to me how I feel for them.”  He slid an arm around her waist, tugging her to him for a sweet kiss that made her body hum.

“I’d ask you to elaborate, but I’m fairly certain I know how that will turn out,” she teased.

“Ask me later, love.  Right now we have a plane to catch.” 

 

 

 

 


	11. Los Angeles

Laura peeled her eyes open wondering why the light was so bright.  Oh.  She was home.

Remington had wormed his way around her body.  Late last night—or maybe it was early this morning—she’d chased Remington into sleep, albeit in her usual position: on her side, pillow under her head and facing the outside of the bed.  She awakened to find his legs entwined with hers; his arm had replaced her pillow, and a hand was firmly anchored beneath her breasts.

She’d been right about that.  Since their night in the cottage, regardless of where they’d been or done that day, Remington slept holding on to her in some form or fashion.  Not that she’d minded.  The past week had been impossibly hard and fulfilled no one’s idea of a honeymoon.

In an effort to block out the light, she put a hand to her eyes hoping sleep would be forthcoming.

“Laura?”

“Yes?”  She lifted her hand.

“You all right?”

Remington’s blue eyes teased something in her memory, and suddenly she recalled the silly dream she’d been having before the light had awakened her.

She smiled and rolled over to face him.  “Are we married?”

“Yes.”  He fingered her ring.

“Did it involve your attempting to marry that hooker, Clarissa, in the Little Chapel of Perpetual Happiness, failing, and then marrying me on a tuna boat by a  Spanish-speaking captain who played “Feelings” on an accordion?”

“Not at all.  Ours involved Daniel, an excellent setup, an irritating bloke named Antony, a sword fight, the pair of us being caught in flagranti delicto by half the guest list, including a society matron, and forced to pretend to marry under archaic Regency rules—at which point Daniel obtained a marriage license by dubious means.  We married under false pretenses, then signed said license, making the whole thing completely legal and binding.”  

“So there’s no chance of its being faked?”

“Not a one.”

“Oh good.  I can’t wait to see Keyes’ face when we tell him the good news.”

He grinned, but the smile fell away as he caressed her left hand.  “Laura?  Why were you upset the night I gave you this ring?”

She covered her face for a moment with her free hand, then pulled it away to look Remington in the eye.  “I knew a girl once.  She lived with a man long enough to have dreams about weddings on exotic beaches, dresses that sparkled in the sun, passionate honeymoons and happily-ever-afters.”  Laura looked down where Remington slowly entwined his fingers with hers.  “But she didn’t dare share those impractical dreams.  They would have been dismissed along with all her other ‘terminal flights of frivolity.’”  She sighed in remembrance.  “And one day not long after that, the groom left—before he’d even popped the question—leaving the girl with nothing to show for all her fanciful ideas.”

Remington raised her hand to kiss the back of it.  “So I stirred up all those dazzling ideas once again—and even gave you a ring that made it seem all too real.”

“That’s a pretty good analysis, Mr. Steele.”

“I’ve had an excellent teacher.  But—I think I’ve missed something.”

“What’s that?”

“Why did you go through with the wedding if it bothered you so much?  Especially after we’d tripped the light fantastic?  It can’t have been easy.”

“No.”  She peeked under her lashes with a sly smile.  “But I’d hoped that if I gave you a ‘trial run’ at a wedding that perhaps, down the road, you might be open to the idea.”

“A sort of sample to see if I would stick?”

“Something like that.”

“It might have worked,” he mused as he slid his hand up her arm.

“Would it?”

“Perhaps.  But we’ll never know.”

“Why is that?”

Remington grinned and slid a hand over her breast, teasing the peak with his thumb.  “We’re already married.  And we’re about to trip the light fantastic again.”

“Is that all you think about?” she admonished.

He leaned over to kiss her.  “No.  Sometimes I think about this—”  They were interrupted by a knock on the door.  “Buggering hell!  We’ve been in town for,” he checked the clock, “ten bloody hours.”

Laura put her feet on the floor and snatched her robe out of the closet before marching to the door.  “Who in the world would be knocking at eight in the morning?”  Remington made a dash for the bathroom with an armful of clothes from his suitcase.

Norman Keyes, with his snarky grin and unlit cigar, hovered over a slim young woman who instantly introduced herself as Laura shoved open the heavy door.

“Estelle Becker, INS.  May I have a word with you?”

Laura rolled her eyes and waved them in.  “Be my guest.”  But she plucked the cigar from Keyes’ mouth and tossed it into a trashcan.  “I don’t allow smoking in my home.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll be comfortable in your jail cell, then.  Heh, heh.  Where have you two been?  Miss Becker’s been trying to track you down all week.  Has your boss flown the coop already?”

Laura ignored him and indicated the couch.  “Miss Becker, would you care for something to drink.  Tea?  Or coffee, if you don’t mind waiting?”

“Not at all, Miss Holt, coffee sounds wonderful.”

“Call me Mrs. Steele, please.”

Keyes exploded.  “Mrs. Steele?  Are you telling me he conned you into marrying him to keep his skinny butt in the country?”

Another knock at the door cut off Laura’s response.  She threw up her hands.  “Why don’t we make a party of it?” she said as she slid open the door again.  “Mother!  What are you doing here?”

Abigail Holt stood in the doorway holding three silver-and-white wrapped gifts, her face brightening with an enormous smile.  “Oooh, Laura, you’re home, darling!”  She kissed her daughter’s cheek.  “Congratulations, sweetie, I’m so happy for you!”

“Thank you, Mother.”  She took the gifts out of her mother’s arms and set them on her desk.  “What are you doing here in L.A.?”

“Why, I’m here for you, of course!  Daniel called me the day of the wedding and told me all about his illness and how the two of you had flown him into the States to spend some time with him at his favorite resort.  He called to apologize over your deciding to move up the wedding date to accommodate him since he was so terribly ill.  He didn’t want me to be angry with you for missing the wedding.  I was, of course, but when I called on Saturday to see how things went, Mr. Lindermann told me Daniel had passed away.  So now, I’m terribly grateful that you did what you did—even if it did ruin your honeymoon.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“Oh that.”  She pulled out a newspaper from her purse.  “Well, I knew you would want to have some sort of family celebration when you came home, so Frances and I have been making arrangements with Mildred.  You won’t believe the gifts that have been showing up at your office.  I think yesterday you even got one from the police commissioner.”

Keyes walked over, pretending to be casual.  “How did anyone know they were married?”

Abigail waved the paper.  “Oh, I had it put in the LA Tribune for Sunday’s edition.”  She handed him a copy of the announcement.  “Plus, one of the journalists did a nice little article on Laura and Remington’s career together.  Absolutely no one was surprised at all to see them tie the knot.  They’re just an adorable couple,” she simpered.

While Laura’s mom told her story, Remington appeared, freshly dressed.

“Keyes,” he acknowledged with a hard look.  Miss Becker introduced herself as he shook her hand—deliberately charming her before turning to Laura’s mother and pressing a kiss to her cheek.  “Abigail, I’m delighted to see you.  May I offer you a cup of coffee?  Tea, perhaps?” he said jovially.

“Oh, Remington.”  Abigail put a hand on his cheek.  “Welcome to the family.  Tea, of course.”

Miss Becker opened her notebook.  “Miss—Mrs. Steele, if I might have just a moment.  I’d like to ask a couple of questions.”

“Certainly.”  Laura turned to her mom.  “Mother?  I’ll be just a moment.”

Abigail smiled.  “Of course, dear.”  She turned to the burly man testily shifting from foot to foot.  “You—I’m sorry; I didn’t catch your name.”

“Ah, Norman Keyes.”

“Abigail Holt, Laura’s mother.  But you probably knew that.  Come; you can help me carry gifts from my car.”

Laura tried not to laugh, but the idea of Keyes hiking up and down three flights of stairs carrying wedding gifts was hilarious.  With Keyes and Abigail occupied for the moment, Laura sat across from Estelle on the sofa while Remington rummaged in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry to have surprised you.  It’s all a part of our investigation,” Miss Becker said with a touch of apology in her voice.

Laura answered with a nod.  “It’s all right.  But please, pardon us for our appearance.  We didn’t arrive from London until late last evening.”

“Is that where you went on your honeymoon?”

“That’s where we went to bury my … good friend.  A mentor of sorts.”  Remington’s voice was flat, showing his distress as he handed Laura her usual mug of coffee and another cup to Miss Becker.

Estelle sipped in appreciation before she made a series of notes in her portfolio.  “Mrs. Steele, how do you take your coffee?”

“Two creams and a sugar, why?”

“Which cup do you normally use in the morning?”

Laura looked down at her drink, puzzled.  “This one.”

“I watched your husband while he made it.  He seems to have passed the test.”  She set her coffee down on the table, snapped her book shut and rose to shake their hands.

They stood as Laura asked, “What test?”

“Your husband made coffee—exactly the way you like it.  He didn’t have to ask where you keep your filters or have to look for your favorite cup.  That tells me that the two of you have been a couple for quite a while.  Given both the birth certificate and the marriage record that you submitted last week, I find that Mr. Keyes’ accusations are unfounded.  My apologies, Mr. and Mrs. Steele—and my sympathies for your loss.”

She walked to the door as Abigail and Keyes returned.  Abigail set her two small packages on Laura’s desk while Keyes staggered in with a large, obviously heavy box that he set on the floor.

He clapped his hands together.  “So, where are we?”

Estelle led him to the door.  “We’re done.”

“We’re done?  When does he leave?” he barked.

“He doesn’t.  He was born here.  We have his birth certificate on file.  Not only that, I see nothing wrong with their marriage—how, when, why or where.  Now—you and I can have a little talk in the car about sending government agents on wild goose chases.”  With Keyes sputtering and fuming, she pushed him out the door.

Remington slid the bolt home, the astonishment clear on his face.

“Oh my goodness, that’s an odious man.  I don’t like him at all.”  Abigail waggled her head.  “Now, shall I call Frances and we’ll all do lunch?”

Laura exchanged amused looks with Remington.  “Mother, it’s not even nine in the morning.”

“Well, yes, of course.  I’ll scoot along and finish with my errands.  Let’s meet .. oh, at that place Mr. Steele prefers—Che’ Rive?”

“I’ll reserve a table for the family.”  Remington kissed her on the cheek, his eyes bright with astonished pleasure.

 

 

 

Over champagne and cake, Frances squealed with delight as her sister described the Regency wedding.  Abigail listened avidly.  Laura just knew her mother was storing up every last detail.  For once, Laura didn’t mind being gossip fodder for her mother’s circle of friends.  Abigail would be queen of the roost as she spilled the tale.

If Laura wasn’t mistaken, Remington found the whole situation amusing.  He inserted details that made Abigail flutter.  Laura crossed her arms as she listened to Remington’s valiant defense of her honor by sword and fist.  One would think he had wrested her from the clutches of an evil lecher.  Of course, he had to mention taking his opponent in a card game and at the billiards table as well—resulting in his opponent’s resounding defeat on all sides.  

“Oh Laura,” Frances said happily, “you’ve married a rake.  I’m so proud of you!”

Laura squinted.  “What exactly is a ‘rake’ anyway?  

Frances patted her face with her napkin.  “Well, a rake is known for gambling and fighting.”

Mildred added, “Playing hard.”

“Having his way with the women.  And being devilishly handsome,” Abigail added.

Laura gave Remington a hard look.  “I think you forgot the part about the enormous ego.  So I married a rake.  Sounds like a mistake to me.”  He flashed her a smarmy grin.  

But Frances, Mildred and Abigail all shook their heads.  “No, you married a reformed rake,” Mildred insisted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Laura demanded.  

“When a rake falls in love, all that passion and playing goes into his marriage.”  Abigail sighed happily.  “You did well, Laura.  Better than I had expected.”  

Laura rolled her eyes at her mother’s last remark. “Yes, well, we’ll see about that.”

Remington lifted Laura’s hand to graze a kiss across her knuckles.  What used to be a hint of things to come now served as a sensuous reminder of what awaited her later.  Don’t squirm, Laura.  She’d become adept at reading her partner but still it took her a moment to identify the light in his eyes.  She bit her lip as a thrill shot through her.  

“I suppose only time will tell," she added.

His lips curved.  “That it will, Mrs. Steele.”

 

 


End file.
